#n.sfw

[happybird16]

Gojo's "You cryin'?" but instead he's pounding into you from behind and it's constant and relentless and you're so over sensitive and full that you're shaking and the only noises you can make are blubbery squeaks because... yeah yeah you are

[starfinss]

ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇᴀᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇᴅᴅʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴇʟᴜꜱɪɴᴇꜱ — ᴡʀɪᴏᴛʜᴇꜱʟᴇʏ

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Genshin Impact

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Wriothesley + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW 

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 12,925

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: After beginning work as a doctor at the Fortress of Meropide, Siegwinne decides you and the Duke are a good match, and will do anything in her power to get you to together, even if she has to take drastic measures.

Or, alternatively, Siegwinne adds a little something extra to the Duke's tea. Chaos ensues.

As soon as the suture needle so much as touched the man sitting before you, he was already flinching away.

“That hurts!” He cried, “please, doctor, be gentle with me.”

It was almost laughable, really. Monsieur Phillip was a hardened criminal, or so you’d been told. He was a career criminal, you remembered the Duke remarking, and he’d been sentenced to serve time in the Fortress of Meropide for a myriad of things, such as assault, and even attempted murder, but here he was, a hulking mass of a man, whimpering in pain at the slightest prick of a needle. 

“Hush,” you said, tutting gently, “the quicker I start, the quicker it’s over. Now hold still.”

He flinched back again, eyeing the needle like it was out to get him. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Please try and relax. I can assure you, I did go to medical school.”

Before he could say anything else, you made the first stitch, carefully, but quickly enough so as not to cause him too much pain. Even with the numbing gel you’d applied, it seemed that the patient’s pain threshold was quite low. It usually removed enough sensation that any leftover pain would be no more than a pinch, but even with that, you could see tears beading at his lash line.

A hardened criminal, indeed.

You finished the sutures quickly before bandaging the injured shoulder and giving Phillip some care instructions.

“And,” you said, “no more getting into altercations about work times, okay?”

Phillip sighed, casting his eyes away from you.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smiled, kindly. “That’s doctor to you.”

It wasn’t wholly unexpected. Men tended to have lower pain tolerances than women did. You’d given stitches to many people before, and when it came to whining, the men tended to be the most common offenders. 

After Phillip left, you checked up on a woman who was resting in one of the infirmary beds, and after taking her temperature and walking away with your clipboard, you nearly tripped over Siegwinne, who had somehow snuck into your path without you noticing.

“Archons,” you exclaimed, a hand flying over your heart, “I need to put a bell on you.”

Siegwinne ignored your remark. “May I see the patient’s chart?”

You handed it to her. “The patient shows signs of improvement. Her fever has broken, and her delirium has started to clear up. She should make a full recovery.”

Siegwinne hummed meaningfully. “Very good. I was worried about that one. I am glad to hear she is healing well.”

You nodded, then turned, starting towards your desk, but before you could make it, Siegwinne called your name, making you pause.

“Yes?”

Her expression remained impassive, eyes curious, unsuspecting, and she tucked the clipboard under her arm as she closed the distance between you.

“Have you seen the Duke today?”

There it was. You didn’t know what you’d been expecting aside from this. Ever since Siegwinne had caught onto the fact that you’d developed a crush on the Duke, she’d tried to do everything in her power to set you up with him. In the beginning, that was all it was. A crush. It was a crush in the same way one would develop an infatuation with a colleague or schoolmate, based on their appearance or the limited positive interactions they had with them. It was no secret that Wriothesley was an attractive man. He was tall, and handsome, anyone with eyes could see that. You’d heard the whispers among female inmates and guards alike. You were not unique in feeling some form of attraction to him. 

But to Siegwinne, your silly crush was an opportunity. 

“You’re a good woman,” she told you, “and His Grace is always stressed. I fear for his health. I think you would be the right person to keep him company. You are a good match. Your influence and affection would do him much good.”

Siegwinne came to you with this a few months after you’d started work at the Fortress, completely out of nowhere, stunning you to silence. You had no idea how she’d caught on to your feelings, and when you expressed as much, she went into a rambling tangent about human behavior, something about the dilation of pupils, and how she’d been taking notes, and that was when you cut her off.

“Absolutely not.”

But nevertheless, she persisted. 

Siegweinne’s matchmaking attempts rarely ended conclusively, since she tended to see things as a logical cause and effect, and did not at all fit the way any normal human would attempt to court another. They mostly involved putting you and Wriothesley into situations that forced you to speak or interact with one another, with little to no regard to how much said situations were an inconvenience to you. Her first attempt, as such, embarrassingly enough, involved telling the Duke you’d had some kind of accident with an inmate, and when he came to the infirmary to check in, finding you unharmed and working at your desk, all that ensued was a lot of confusion. You wondered why he’d come all that way to see you, and he was surprised to find you not laying on one of the infirmary beds.

But, what her attempts did do, was make the way you felt about Wriothesley, which was no more than a passing fancy at first, grow into something more. 

And despite your best efforts, that only made Siegwinne latch on even harder. 

“Hello?” Siegwinne said, shaking you from your thoughts, “I believe it is polite to answer a question when asked one, or have human customs changed?”

You brushed off her unintentional rudeness, instead answering what she’d asked you.

“No,” you said, “I have not seen His Grace today. He’s a busy man, Siegwinne. You know that.”

“Well, you should go see him.”

You sighed, leaning down to take your clipboard from under her arm, then crossing to your desk.

“I don’t have a reason to go see him,” you said, sitting down, “and like I said, His Grace is a busy man.”

She didn’t push after that, simply going back to work as you did yours, and you tried to put it out of your mind. You and Wriothesley were friends, you’d say. Even though you usually found yourselves meeting in less than normal circumstances, you were still fond of him. You enjoyed his frank, matter-of-fact personality, and dry sense of humor, and he seemed to enjoy your company as well. Your relationship was as casual as it could be between you and a man who was technically your boss, and friendly enough that you had conversations outside of work related matters. You’d never let Siegwinne know this, but her repeated and clumsy attempts at setting you up were not without some benefits. 

That was fine, you supposed. You’d bonded over Siegwinne and her antics, and built a friendship over a shared love of tea, as well as an author you both enjoyed, among other common interests. But that was it. As much as Siegwinne, and, begrudgingly, you, would like to say otherwise, you and The Duke were only friends. 

And, it seemed, as you settled into that fact quite comfortably, Siegwinne only grew more brazen in her attempts at Melusine style matchmaking. 

Her latest attempt involved trying to shut you in a locked room with The Duke, which failed when Wriothesley produced the master key in order to open the door. It happened a little over a week ago, which made you nervous, because Siegwinne didn’t like letting too much time pass between her less than gentle shoves. You were almost completely certain that Wriothesley knew what was happening, he’d have to be stupid not to, though he hadn’t said anything about it. This was probably to spare you from any further embarrassment, which you appreciated. 

The situation was hopeless. You knew that well. But Siegwinne didn’t, and that was beginning to become a problem. You didn’t know why you’d let her get away with this for the handful of months that you had, but maybe, deep down, you hoped that something would actually come from all her meddling. 

And apart from that, you had a certain degree of professionalism to uphold. Wriothesley was your boss, and you were both his employee and his doctor. As much as you found yourself wishing otherwise, pursuing your feelings, even if that was an option, just wasn’t ethical. 

But still, you could dream, you supposed. Dreaming was harmless. 

“I need you to run an errand for me.”

You turned in your chair, raising an eyebrow at Siegwinne, who was staring over at you innocently, a thermos in her hands. You looked at it, then back at her, puzzled.

“Siegwinne, I’m not in the mood.”

She frowned. “To do your job? How unbecoming. I’m simply asking you to deliver this tea to the Duke. His Grace is suffering from a headache. I delivered some to him this morning, but the problem still persists.”

You glanced at the thermos again. “Tea? What’s in it?”

She immediately became defensive, and for a moment, you almost felt guilty for doubting her. 

“Medicine!” She cried, “what do you take me for? I’ve brewed a painkiller into the tea. It should help with His Grace’s headache. If you don’t trust me, you can take a sip yourself.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why can’t you do it?”

Her brows pinched together in annoyance, and maybe a little indignance. “I have to go see a patient, thank you. A young man is complaining of nausea, and finds it hard to stand because of it, so I am going to see him in his cell. Now, will you bring His Grace the tea, or not?”

You sighed. In your own mind, your hesitance was completely justified. Siegwinne had tried to trick you into being alone with Wriothesley many times before this, but then again, if the Duke was actually feeling unwell, and you refused to bring him medicine, what kind of doctor would you be? 

And so, you relented. With another sigh, you stood, snatching the thermos from Siegwinne’s outstretched hand. 

“Fine,” you said, “I’ll be back as soon as I drop it off.”

If Siegwinne was disappointed by this, she hid it well. She simply nodded, then crossed over to her desk to busy herself with her medical bag. You glanced over a few more things at your own desk before scooping up the thermos and leaving the infirmary after calling a quick few words of parting to Siegwinne, who only nodded. 

You shivered a little as you left the infirmary. Siegwinne tended to keep it warmer there, with a space heater sitting in the corner to combat the cold dampness of the rest of the Fortress of Meropide. It was better for the patients, she said, if they had somewhere nice and warm to rest and recover. You were fairly certain she also said something about humans and their preference for warmth, but that wasn’t important at present. 

The clang of your boots against the metal floors rang out as you walked, head held high, thermos in your grip. The air smelled of iron and brine, a scent you’d grown used to in the time you’d been working in the Fortress. Artificial light cast everything in a sort of ominous hue, and the low strength of it left everything in partial shadow. It used to make you nervous, not knowing what hid behind them, using them like masks. Now you knew that whatever was waiting for you was something you could handle.

You glanced down at the thermos in your hands. It was warm, likely just brewed. There was no way Siegwinne would have you serve the Duke cold tea. The thermos was plain; unassuming. It was slate gray, probably stainless steel. You turned it over in your hands, studying it. It was just tea. You had no reason to think it was anything other than that. But with Siegwinne, you’d learned to expect the unexpected.

Absently, you stepped into the elevator to take you down to the administrative floor. The car jerked, and with a mechanical clank, began to move. You turned the thermos over in your hands again. It’s just tea. For the Duke. Your poor, ailing boss. You twisted your mouth. It was fine. There was no way Siegwinne would ever do anything to actually harm Wriothesley. You tapped your nails against the surface of the thermos, almost jumping from your skin when the elevator came to an abrupt stop as it reached its destination, jostling you where you stood and ejecting you from your tangled thoughts. 

You sighed as you left the elevator, tucking the thermos into your arms and against your chest. Everything was fine. If Siegwinne took anything seriously, it was health. You’d caught her staring intently at you on many occasions, and when you asked her about it, she told you she was making sure you were healthy, in a very matter-of-fact tone, like it was obvious. She may be odd, but she wasn’t going to try and harm anyone. 

As you reached the doors to the Duke’s office, you reached into the pocket of your skirt, digging out the key to the lock. Because of the Fortress’s status as a prison, it was only natural that important areas such as the office of the warden would remain locked. The only way to get in was if you had a key or if you were invited by Wriothesley himself. There was also the off chance that the Duke left the doors unlocked, but that was uncommon. Regardless, before you put the key in the lock, you raised your hand, knocking on the door with a great clang. 

“Your Grace?” you called, though it was unlikely he heard you through the thick steel, “I’ll be coming in now. I have some tea for you.”

And with that, you pushed the key into place, twisting. With a grunt of effort, you pushed the doors open.

It was as you were opening the door that you heard him, calling to you. It was muffled under the mechanical clank of the doors, making you only vaguely aware of his call of your name, and you hurried to close the door to answer him. The lock clicked as you did, signifying that the mechanism had reset to its previous locked state. 

You expected Wriothesley to call out to you again after your lack of response, or even possibly to come see you. It was unlikely that Siegwinne would send you on an errand without previously announcing your arrival. But instead, you were met with silence. You gripped the thermos more tightly, hesitating.

“Your Grace?”

You heard something else then. A soft intake of breath, only able to be heard because of the complete lack of noise, save for the quiet hum of machinery from beyond the doors. Then, you could hear him clearing his throat. 

“Yes,” you heard Wriothsley say, from up the stairs, “up here.”

You sighed, relieved, as you made your way up the curving staircase and into the main office.

And as for things you expected to see, this was not among them.

Wriothesley was sitting at his desk, but he looked more than a little disheveled. His coat had been discarded, draped over the back of his chair, and his tie was undone, hanging loose around his neck. His waistcoat was also unbuttoned, as were the top two buttons of the dress shirt he wore underneath the garment. His gloves had also been removed, laying out on his desk beside an empty teacup. His hair was tousled, more than usual, and his face…

You furrowed your brows, suddenly concerned. His face was flushed, a deep pink settled in the apples of his cheeks, very evident against his usually pale skin. Breath, feather soft, expelled itself through parted lips, almost too quickly, as he looked over at you, brows pinching together, as if pained or troubled before the expression calmed. Wriothesley straightened, clearing his throat again, and he was hurriedly fixing his clothing, deft fingers doing up the buttons of his shirt, smoothing back over his hair. 

His eyes fell to the thermos in your hands, lingering, before sliding up to your face. 

You stared at him, your concern growing more by the second, and after a beat, you crossed to the desk, setting the thermos down.

“Your Grace,” you said, “I’ve brought you painkillers for your headache, but you look… May I examine you? You do not look like you’re feeling well.”

“Examine me,” he repeated, then took a slow breath, squeezing his eyes shut before shaking his head, as if clearing away a fog. He swallowed, raking a hand through his hair, and it was then that you spotted sweat beading on his forehead. 

“Yes,” you said, gently, already in doctor mode, “please, let me help.”

He cleared his throat, for what was probably the third time, and you narrowed your eyes. You were rapidly beginning to get suspicious in addition to concerned. There was something he wasn’t telling you. Absently, you found yourself mentally scolding yourself for neglecting to bring your medical bag.

“I’m fine,” he said, though he certainly didn’t look fine, “please, don’t trouble yourself. You’ve come all this way for me, so would you at least sit with me for a cup of tea?”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. It was fine, though, you supposed. Staying around wasn’t a terrible idea. It would give you a chance to more closely study the Duke’s behavior, and try and figure out what the problem might be. And so, you stepped to the table off to the side, picking a clean tea cup from the collection displayed there. 

“I don’t need any, really,” you said as you leaned over to take the thermos from the desk, “Siegwinne made this for you, for your head. I am happy to sit and talk with you, though, if you want me to.”

Wriothesley smiled easily. “If you like, I can brew you a cup from my personal collection of teas. What do you like?”

You flushed, feeling special, and you turned to busy yourself with arranging his cup of tea to hide the pink in your cheeks. 

“You already know my preferences, Your Grace,” you said, over your shoulder, “just a cup of earl gray is fine.”

You heard shuffling, then the sound of a drawer being pulled open, and you knew the Duke was rifling through the collection of teas he kept stored in his desk. Shifting your focus, you removed the small travel cup attached to the top of the thermos, then unscrewed the lid. Immediately, you were hit with the scent of the tea. It was unexpectedly sweet, and sort of floral. It certainly wasn’t the Duke’s usual style, that was for sure. You took another lungful of it, and could make out notes of various medicinal herbs, including rosemary and feverfew, both known to help with headaches. You could also smell a hint of lavender. But there was still that floral, sort of rosy scent, undercut by the bitter, citrus aroma of the feverfew. It smelled a bit like rainbow roses; of petrichor and morning dew and sweet fresh petals. It certainly had herbs in it, some of which were known to help with what the Duke needed, but the combination of them that you were able to discern was puzzling to say the least.

You put it out of your mind, chalking up the roses to being there to help with the bitterness of the feverfew. With a sigh, you poured the steaming liquid into the teacup. It was sort of a deep rouge color, bordering on purple. A nice color, you decided, and not entirely unexpected with what was contained in the tea. You placed the cup on a saucer, then carried it, alongside the still half filled thermos over to the desk, setting them before the Duke. In exchange, he handed you the tea bag you’d requested, which you accepted gladly. 

After you’d filled a cup with boiling water, which the Duke always seemed to have on hand in any nearby kettle, ready for a quick cup. You added the tea bag, as well as a few spoonfuls of sugar, then took your seat on the couch by the tea table. 

Wriothesley’s face twisted as he took the first sip from his cup, seemingly troubled. 

“It’s very sweet.”

You tilted your head. “Is it not to your liking? I’ll be sure to tell Siegwinne to tweak the recipe.”

Wriothesley waved a dismissive hand. “No,” he said, “I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s not my usual style, but I don’t dislike it.”

You nodded meaningfully, blowing over your tea once more. 

“How are things over in the infirmary?” He asked, and you sat up straighter, engaged. 

“Fine. The usual. I had a man who was scared of needles just before I came over,” you said, “I’d barely touched him before he was telling me to stop.”

Wriothesley laughed, amused. He took another swallow of tea.

 “Oh, really?” He said, “Monsieur Phillip, I suspect? That man always gets into brawls, but is terrified of medical treatment. And he never wins those brawls. The gardes always have to pull the other guy off of him.”

You hid your smile behind your teacup. “I know,” you said, “Siegwinne is always scolding him when he comes in for being reckless.”

Wriothesley rested his head on a closed fist, thoughtful, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Maybe a few rounds in the Pankration Ring would do him some good,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t go putting any ideas in his head,” you said, “he might become a permanent resident of the infirmary if he starts entering into any matches.”

Wriothesley made a face, pale blue eyes moving to rest somewhere in the depths of his teacup. “Maybe he’d pick up a few things about proper combat, though.”

It was your turn to laugh. “Maybe, but at the cost of his health.”

You enjoyed this. It was hardly the first time you’d been invited to stay for tea, in addition to being personally invited to tea a handful of times before. Wriothesley’s presence was pleasant and inviting, despite his intimidating stature and appearance. His height dwarfed many other people, and you’d seen few as tall as he was, save for the Iudex, who was far more slim than the Duke was. Where Monsieur Neuvillette was tall and lithe, Wriothesley was broad and powerfully built. His sheer size alone, made only more prominent by the bulky coat he wore around his shoulders, was enough to intimidate anyone.

But despite that, he was an amicable and good-humored man, earnest and straightforward. He made you feel at ease, and your growing affection for him settled low and warm in the spot behind your heart. 

His face was getting more pink, you noticed, with a start. You took another sip of tea, watching him closely. His brow furrowed, just briefly, and he was fiddling with the bands of leather around his throat, as if they were suddenly too tight. He shifted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable.

“Your Grace?” You said, and he seemed to snap out of whatever had overtaken him, regarding you with raised eyebrows and an expectant expression.

“Sorry,” he said, “what were you saying?”

You studied him, eyes narrowed, and he laughed, a little awkwardly.

“You’re doing that thing Siegwinne does,” he said, “the thing she does with her eyes. I don’t know how you replicated it so perfectly. There’s nothing wrong, I promise. It’s just suddenly kind of hot in here. Do you feel that?”

You shook your head. In fact, to you, the room was cold. Just as cold as the rest of the Fortress, save for the infirmary. It was the reason for the thermal lining in the pale blue overcoat of your uniform, the color that marked you as medical staff, as well as the reason for the thicker uniform fabric worn by the majority of the other general staff. 

“No,” you said, and Wriothesley looked puzzled. 

“Oh,” he muttered, puzzled, “I was warm earlier, but I’m starting to get… hot now. I don’t suppose that’s normal?”

You cracked a smile at that. “No, I don’t think so.”

A spell of silence passed before your mind snapped back to what he’d just said.

“You were feeling overly warm earlier? When did that start?”

Wriothesley furrowed his brows, considering your question before answering. He took another sip from his cup, then poured more of the contents of the thermos into it.

“This morning,” he said, “I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but it was maybe shortly after I had a cup of tea.”

You snorted, amused. “You realize how little that narrows it down, don’t you? You drink more tea than anyone I know, Your Grace. I need a measure of time, not cups of tea.”

He chuckled at that. “I apologize. I believe it was after Siegwinne delivered the tea she made for my head. Which is feeling much better, by the way. I think what I’ve been drinking while we’ve been chatting has helped kick the rest of it. I’m almost finished with the thermos.”

Suddenly, you made the connection. 

Almost robotically, and with learned efficiency, you went over the contents that you’d smelled in the tea, along with their uses. Feverfew, maybe some lavender, and rosemary. All of those had various uses, though they all had one thing in common, which was pain relief. Finally, there was the rainbow rose. The petals and buds were used for medicinal purposes, and could be used as such, similarly to common red roses, for anything ranging from headaches to a sore throat. 

Something was missing. Something was wrong. The scent itself had been off.

“The tea,” you said, “from before. Was it sweet?” 

Wriothesley nodded, taking another gulp, and finally, pouring the last of the contents of the thermos into the cup. “This brew is sweeter, though.”

You stood, then reached for his teacup, bringing it to your nose and inhaling. You caught the same things as before, but as you mulled them over, something else clicked. 

Siegwinne wouldn’t. Would she?

“It’s really hot,” Wriothesley said, and you could see the sweat beaded at his hairline, sticking the hair at his temples to his skin, cresting down his cheekbone. 

You reached out, and when the back of your hand made contact with his burning forehead, he flinched, making a soft sound in surprise and alarm.

“Why is your skin so much colder than mine?”

Your skin wasn’t cold. In fact, your body was at an average temperature, kept warm by the layers of clothing you were wearing. By your own assessment, your hands were probably relatively warm. You frowned, reaching into your pocket and withdrawing your penlight, circling the desk to situate yourself closer to the Duke.

The way he was looking at you when you drew closer was strange. Almost hungry. Famished, ice blue hues swept over your form, and you watched as his hands, previously resting on the desk, folded in front of him, over his lap. 

You moved closer, leaning halfway over to him, hand making contact with his face to tilt it towards you. He flinched at your touch, breath shuddering, and you studied his eyes closely before muttering a warning and shining your light into his face, instructing him to follow the light with his gaze.

“This isn’t… necessary,” he protested, weakly, and you ignored him. His pupils were blown wide, dark pits in the center of the sky blue of his irises. 

“Mydriasis,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him as you switched off your light and pocketed it. 

Your hand dropped from his face to just under where his jaw met his throat. You pushed aside the leather straps, just enough to access his pulse point, pressing two fingers to the spot. His heart was racing, quick and erratic, and you felt him shudder, breath heavy, his jaw setting tightly as your hands drifted across his skin, probing and searching. His skin was burning with heat, feverishly so, and coupled with the elevated heart rate, the blown pupils, and the way he seemed to flinch whenever you made contact with his skin directly, you could only make one conclusion.

“So,” you said, backing up to stand up straight, “this started after you had the first brew Siegwinne dropped off, yes?”

Wriothesley nodded. “It did.”

His voice. It had dropped several octaves in the time you’d been examining him, and you cursed the effect it had on you, coursing hot through your bloodstream. It felt so deeply unprofessional for a doctor to even think of her patient in the way the brief thoughts that fluttered through your mind suggested you do.

“Is it worse after this second batch?” You forced yourself to say.

He huffed a laugh. “You could say that.”

And it was then when you noticed, from where you were standing, that Wriothesley’s belt was undone. Rosy hues colored your cheeks as you yanked your gaze away.

“You need to tell me all of your symptoms,” you said, “spare no detail.”

Panic briefly flashed across his face as he crossed and uncrossed his legs.

“Hot,” he said, “I feel far too warm. Do I have a fever?”

You narrowed your eyes. He was purposely hiding the truth, but nonetheless, you answered.

“Yes,” you said, “but I believe it’s because your body is overheated and not because you're fighting an infection. I just said not to leave anything out, Your Grace, please tell me everything. As your doctor, I–”

“I’m… Archons, I don’t want to say it,” he paused, searching, almost frantically for something else to focus on. “What was in that tea?”

You swallowed, leaning back to rest against the desk. 

“Herbs,” you said, “rosemary, feverfew, and lavender. All meant to help with pain and headaches. But I could also smell rainbow roses.”

Wriothesley brightened. “Yes, I thought that was what I tasted. It brings such a unique flavor to the table, don’t you agree?”

You fought a smile, endeared by him, but now was hardly the time. You needed to figure out what was wrong with him, not to discuss tea. 

“Yes,” you said, “but it was strange. Too sweet. It only gets to that level when the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose are included alongside the powdered roots of a rainbow rose, in which case the combination can make–”

Oh. Oh. 

As you were talking, it clicked into place. The scent, which you’d thought was much too sweet before, suddenly made sense. Sumeru rose must have been the final ingredient. It was flavorless when consumed, but smelled quite sweet. When combined with rainbow roses, the scent of the two grew overpoweringly saccharine. Unless diluted, it would almost resemble a syrup. If the rainbow rose petals were boiled alongside the powdered roots of the Sumeru rose, it could become a powerful medicine able to soothe a bad cough. But if the roots of both plants were powdered, the results were…

You cursed yourself for being so stupid. Of course, Siegwinne would see nothing wrong with this. Medicine was medicine, regardless of what the outcome of its ingestion spelled, so long as it got the desired result. To her, the suggestion of something unbecoming would be taken with great offense. 

“‘Can make?’” Wriothesley supplied, and were already imagining the ways in which you were going to rip Siegwinne a new one.

“I need your symptoms. Now. I am a doctor, Your Grace, I promise I will be as non judgemental as possible, just please–”

“Damn it,” he interjected, face hidden in his hands, “I’m aroused.”

Anything you’d just been about to say left your mind, swept away by dread, because you knew what was happening.

Siegwinne was evil. You could already picture her expectant, innocent face, asking just how her little ‘experiment’ had gone, and it filled you with boiling rage. 

Though, there was also the fact that she could simply be misinformed. Melusines had different reactions to some medicines than humans did, and it was equally possible that she simply thought that, if dosed with the tea, the Duke’s feelings for you, if he had any, would just be made more prominent. For her sake, you hoped it was the latter. 

“Aroused,” you parroted, trying hard to stay professional and failing miserably, because this was unethical on so many levels, “tell me more about that.”

He made a strangled, startled sound. “You want to know more?” 

You wanted to melt into the floor. “I need to know how strong the dose you’ve been given is.”

“Dose?!” He said, “of what?”

You refused to look at him. “When mixed together, the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose and a rainbow rose create a powerful aphrodisiac. I believe the first dose you received was a weaker version, and this one is much stronger.”

Silence followed as Wriothesley took in the information, then cleared his throat.

“Do you have an antidote?”

You raised your head to look at him properly. He looked almost haggard, the flush from his face creeping down his neck. 

“There… kind of isn’t one.”

Wriothesley made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat, hands raising to card through his hand, and it was then that you noticed it. Now that his hands were no longer hiding it, you could see it, there, outlined against the dark fabric of his slacks. 

He was hard. 

A wave of suffocating, shameful arousal washed over you, and you forced yourself to look away, to ignore it.

You could only begin to imagine how he was feeling. The way you were feeling was nothing compared to him, his condition undoubtedly much more intense than your own physical reaction in response to his arousal, and you could feel his eyes on you as you scrambled to find a solution. 

“What am I going to do then?” He asked, “it’s getting… I’m sorry, It’s getting rather unbearable. I tried everything. It’s impossible to ignore, and I know I can’t use my hands.”

You spared him a glance. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, “I was already trying that. It wasn’t enough.”

Oh. The unbuckled belt. His disheveled state when you’d walked in. He’d already been dealing with the effects of the first dose, or at least attempting to. The call of your name, as you were entering the office. The silence before he summoned you up to the second floor.

Fuck. He’d been thinking of you. 

That had to be one of the hottest things you’d ever heard, professionalism be damned. Arousal rolled over you like a breaking wave, making you bite into your lower lip.

You knew what needed to happen. You knew the effects of this particular drug would take, and you knew that the only way to relieve his symptoms was either to very painfully wait it out or to… find relief. In this case, that entailed another person. 

“You need to have sexual intercourse,” you said, “or you can wait it out.”

Wriothesley cleared his throat. “Wait it out,” he said, “right, I can do that. How long will that take?”

You twisted your hands together. “It… depends. You were likely given a pretty strong dose, even for someone your size. By my estimate, it would probably take several hours for it to work its way out of your system.”

He chuckled dryly, humorlessly. “Great.”

You cleared your throat. “Do you have someone I could… call? A girlfriend?”

He snorted, as if amused by the idea. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

That would make sense, you supposed, if he was calling out your name, and not the name of another woman. 

“We both know what Siegwinne is doing,” Wriothesley said, “not just with this, but for the past few months. I can’t pretend I’m not fond of you, and neither of us can pretend there isn’t something between us.”

It was like the ground dropped out from under you at the sheer brazenness of his admission. You stared at him, thunderstruck. 

“You… what?” 

A cavalcade of thoughts crashed together as you rapidly attempted to process what he meant by that, but he barely gave you any time before he started speaking again.

“Look,” he said, “if you don’t feel the same, I can accept that. I’ll wait it out, and we can pretend this never even happened. But if you do, are you even… slightly interested in um… helping me? Because honestly, I feel like I’m about to explode.”

Heat coiled low in your stomach, threatening to overtake you as the lovely rasp of his voice made any of your logical thoughts close to meaningless. This was so vastly unprofessional. He was your boss, and you were his doctor. But something dangerously close to want was settling neatly over that space you usually reserved, that you looked to for reassurance about your professional standing with the Duke, to tell you that your feelings for him, ever growing, were improper. 

And when you turned, watching his face, the way his hungry gaze traced your body through your uniform, something in you snapped, and you threw caution to the wind.

Head lowered, face flushed, you swallowed your rationality and any remaining hesitance you had left. 

“I suppose,” you said, “I could use my hands.”

Wriothesley’s body jolted in anticipation, and his eyes betrayed his hesitance, darkened to steel blue with lust as he nodded once, then once more.

“Hands,” he repeated, “yes, hands are good. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

You found it touching that he was at least trying to take your comfort into account, even when he was drowning in desire, and you took a slow step forward as he shifted, pulling his chair out enough to allow you room to situate yourself on the floor in front of him. As you took another step, he took his coat from the back of his chair and laid it at his feet, another gesture you appreciated. 

Once you reached him, you knelt down between his thighs, and he watched you with burning eyes, flinching when your palms smoothed over his clothed thighs, jaw tightening. Medical curiosity echoed briefly in the back of your mind, taking note of just how sensitive the drug had made him to the simplest of touches, how he shivered as your nails grazed against the insides of his strong thighs. 

Fuck, he was radiating heat. So much so that it was beginning to affect you, and you shifted back on your knees to remove the overcoat layer of your uniform, leaving you in the blouse and underskirt beneath it. Wriothesley’s eyes followed your motions with rapt attention, and when you moved forward again, settling, you felt him jolt when your palm met his leg once again.

This close up, you could see it, just how much he was straining against his trousers, his erection pressed against his zipper, and hesitantly, you cupped it in your hand.

The Duke gasped at your touch, fingers twitching where he’d curled them around the armrests of his chair, then tightening in a white-knuckled grip as you ever-so-gently squeezed. He twitched against your palm, and you removed his belt entirely, dropping it to the floor with a clatter before you were unfastening his button and zipper.

You palmed him through the fabric of his underwear, and you could already feel how big he was just from that. A sort of eagerness threaded its way into the burn of your arousal as you pushed away any remaining layers, pulling him free.

Fuck. He was so thick, and when you slowly wrapped your hand around him, your fingers just barely met. He was long, too, though you supposed it made sense for a man of his size. He was flushed red, painfully hard, and when you squeezed, you felt him twitch once more, his body tightening like a coiled spring. His hands tightened their grip on the armrests, flexing, and you felt his hips shift forward, unconsciously. 

The first stroke made his head roll back, the sound he let out one of relief, just from that simple touch alone. It made you squirm in place, the sound of his voice and the stricken hitch of his breath causing the desperation of his arousal to bleed into your own building need. Precum was beaded at his tip, and you almost wanted to lean forward to lap it up, especially as more leaked out in response to the way you were stroking him in slow, even movements. 

Heavy breath expelled through clenched teeth, followed by a low, low groan as your thumb found his tip, rubbing in slow circles, and it was then that you leaned forward, giving into temptation as your tongue pressed to the underside of the head of his cock in a slow lick.

“Oh,” he gasped, “oh, you don’t have to– oh, fuck.”

He cut himself off as you lapped at his slit, groaning through his teeth. He was already completely lost to pleasure as you pumped the base of him, and when you took him into your mouth, sucking on the tip, you heard him curse, a sound drawn out with a low, decadent groan. 

“You said your hands– oh!”

Arousal was settling low and smoldering hot in the pit of your stomach, pooling between your thighs, and you whined as he whispered your name. You released him from your mouth, hands moving to rest on his thighs, and you dragged your tongue up and along the underside of his dick, gathering up any precum that had dribbled down. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his slacks, lips grazing the side of his shaft, and he repeated your name, louder, voice twisted with an urgency that made your blood sing.

It was embarrassing, just how quick you’d gotten like this, punch drunk on the reactions he gave you, the way his body reacted to your touch. It filled you with an addicting sort of power, one that threatened to overtake you if you weren’t careful. But right then, all you wanted was to add fuel to the ever growing fire. And, with the way he was breathing, rough and ragged and broken, you doubted he’d be opposed to that. 

Your tongue flicked out, against the fold of skin just below his tip, and he tensed, crying out helplessly. When you finally took him in your mouth, fully, his head fell back against his chair, a feral groan tearing itself from his throat as your tongue pressed firm against him. Your hand moved from his leg to encircle the base of him again, squeezing and stroking in tandem with the slow bob of your head, and making the Duke gasp at the sensations. 

When you sucked, just a little, Wriothesley babbled a string of curses, hips twitching up towards your mouth, and when you ducked down, bobbing your head, one of his hands flew from the armrest to the back of your head. You thought he’d push, or maybe take control, but all he did was lace his fingers into your hair, unmoving. His body shuddered under the roll of your tongue, under the press of your free hand to his stomach, creeping under the layers of clothing covering him, his skin fever hot against your own.

You took him deeper, and he twitched, hips jumping as you hollowed out your cheeks, drawing back before surging forward once again. You relaxed your jaw further as his hips bucked, and he muttered an apology, breathless and feverish. His head pitched back as you rubbed your thumb against his base, and he twitched again, sharply. When you looked up at him, through your lashes, he was gazing down at you with hooded, burning eyes. There was desperation in his cool blue hues, a wordless plea for anything, everything you could give him.

And with everything you had, you delivered. 

You dropped your jaw, swallowing as much of him as you can, drinking in the sound of his breath shuddering, tapering off into a low moan. You sped up, gradually, and the sounds he made were so madly erotic that you found yourself aching to reach between your thighs and take care of your own growing need, but you could hardly focus on anything apart from taking him as deep as possible without choking. The sheer girth of him was enough to make your jaw sore, and when you moved forward again, he hit the back of your throat, making tears catch in your lashes. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, drawing the word out with the sound, long and low and you kneened around him, making him curse and buck. 

The hand not tangled in your hair raised to his face, balling tight, and he bit down on his fist, stifling his uncontrolled cries of ecstasy, eyes squeezing shut, brows pinching in concentration. He was trembling beneath your touches, twitching against your tongue, and when you moved back to suck on the tip, slow and indolent, the noise that left his mouth was nothing short of pornographic. 

“Yeah,” he seethed, voice breathy, needy, “fuck, yeah, don’t stop.”

Not a chance in hell you were doing that. You clamped your thighs together, squeezing around nothing, and you knew you were soaked, evident in the way your panties were sticking to your skin, your thighs tacky with sweat and the soak of your own arousal. Your hand curled into a fist where it rested on his stomach, then flattening once more and flexing, searching for anything to anchor yourself. When you took him into your mouth once more, fully, he bucked his hips, groaning with no regard for volume. He was close, teetering on that edge, evident from the way his grip on your hair grew tighter, the way you could feel the muscles in his stomach tensing, and when you took him deep and sucked, he moaned, long and low, the sound almost forced from his fraying lungs. The sensitivity had to be maddening, you decided, and you’d use that to your full advantage. 

Slowly, you pulled back, lapping at the leaking tip, hand working tirelessly at the base of him, and you barely had any warning before he tipped over the edge, back arching, breath all but leaving him. You shifted back in surprise, reflexively, and cum painted itself across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the seam of your lips. You closed your eyes in an attempt to keep anything from getting into them before you were hurrying to take him in your mouth, sealing your lips around him. His hand was fisting in your hair, and the sound he made, a low, breathless groan, was one of sheer, debauched relief. 

You sucked, and he let out an obscene moan as you swallowed down his cum, hips jerking, the hand previously fisted between his teeth flattening against the desk, palm slamming down, just once, and you heard the rasp of wood under fingernails as he moved to grip the edge. 

You slowed, working him through the intensity of his orgasm, as he twitched and throbbed under your touch, the sheer volume of cum surprising you. It leaked from your mouth, down your chin, and you did your best to swallow as much of it as you could. He slumped, boneless, against his chair, and when you moved to clean him with your tongue, you got to listen to the delightful sound of him gasping from oversensitivity.

“Fuck,” you heard him say, dazed and utterly breathless, “fuck.”

Slowly, you drew back, and his eyes followed you, breath hitching and gaze darkening as he took in your appearance. The sight of you, knelt before him, covered in his cum, was enough to make him groan aloud, cheeks flaring pink.

“Archons,” he said, “that has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You let out a short, breathless chuckle.

“Do you have a rag or something?”

He nodded, once, and you stood on shaking legs before leaning sideways against the desk, and he pulled you closer, gently wiping your face clean with a tissue before depositing it in the trash situated under his desk. 

“How do you feel?” You asked, and he huffed what may have been a laugh, nearly disbelieving.

“That was… Incredible. But I’m still, um…”

You crooked an eyebrow, watching him, expectantly.

He looked almost guilty. “I’m still hard.”

Oh. Oh. 

You weren’t completely surprised. You didn’t know if a blowjob alone would be enough to work the drug from his system, and clearly, it wasn’t. Not that you minded. Your own arousal was a steady pulse below your skin, working like a second heartbeat. Desire coursed through you, and you pressed your thighs together once more. You wanted it. You already knew that. You wanted him. 

“Alright,” you said, and what was left of any phantom of resolve, or the shreds of your until recently professional relationship with him all but vaporized, “sit back.”

“You don’t have to,” he started, the protest as fragile as glass, but you cut him off.

“I want to. I’ve… wanted this– you– for a while. So please, Your Grace– Wriothesley. I want it all. If you’ll have me.”

That was all it took. With a low, shuddering breath, a signal of his rapidly fraying restraint, he was yanking you forward and into his lap, his fingers working the buttons of your blouse open, hurriedly shucking it down your shoulders once undone. He made quick work of the ties fastening your skirt to your body, and you briefly shuffled off of him to drop it to the floor, along with your stockings, before resituating yourself on his lap. 

“If I’ll have you?” He rumbled, the low, rough ombre of his voice sending prongs of lightning down your spine, and he yanked you closer, mouth dragging along the curve of your jaw.

“How could I possibly refuse?”

And then, for the first time, he was kissing you. 

His lips were burning hot against yours, and your fingers found his hair, threading into messy locks, nails dragging against his scalp. He huffed a sigh into your lips as he nudged his tongue between them, tilting his head to slot his mouth more firmly against yours, and when his tongue dragged against yours, you moaned, low and soft, into his mouth. He kissed you slow and deep, almost a juxtaposition to the way he was feverishly running his hands, large and calloused, down your body, and when his fingers grazed over the patch of nerves just where your lowest rib met the curve of your waist, you shuddered in his hold. 

You could taste the tea he’d been drinking on his tongue, cloyingly sweet, and it was almost too much when mixed with the heady, spiced smell of his cologne. Everything about him was overwhelming you in the best way possible, rendering you pliable and soft in his hands. Fuck, Wriothesley needed his own warning label. It was almost funny, really, just how riled up you were when he was the one who had been drugged with an aphrodisiac. 

His teeth caught your lower lip as he drew back, tugging, before he was diving back in, hands planted firmly on your hips, and you let out a stuttering gasp as he pulled you forward, his bare cock pressing against your stomach. 

The way he shuddered at the contact was enough to make your head spin with arousal, and when you shifted forward once more, just to see what he’d do, the grip on your hips grew to nearly bruising. 

“You have no idea,” he husked, low and rough, the very threads of his sanity slipping from between his fingers, “how hard you’re making it to hold back.”

His words shot straight between your thighs, and you rolled your hips again, loving the way he stiffened. You felt his palm, dragging slowly up your body, then finally moving to cup your breast through the fabric of your bra, squeezing. You arched your chest into his touch, his name whisper soft on your lips. 

He unfastened your bra after some fumbling, his coordination clearly beginning to become impacted by the drug. Once the garment was discarded, he barely gave you time to breathe, and you gasped when his head dipped down, mouth dragging across the valley of your breasts, skating along the side of one before his lips found one of your nipples, drawing it into the heat of his mouth.

He groaned at the taste of you, indulgent, as he laved his tongue over your flesh, hands sliding up to grip your waist, holding you in place, allowing him to explore the newly exposed skin with his mouth as much as he pleased. He was strong, his grip like iron, but it didn’t prevent you from slowly rocking your hips, rubbing your clothed cunt against his bare cock, and the way he groaned into your skin was a sound of delirious pleasure. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, almost disbelieving, “fuck, I’m a lucky man.”

His tender words made your heartbeat quicken, and you squeezed him closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers catching on the buttons of his shirt, and you quickly unfastened them, pushing the cloth away to smooth your palms over his bare skin. Gently, you pushed him back against the chair you were both situated in to look at him, and the sight before you was almost too much.

You already knew he was muscular, that much was obvious by just looking at him. But beneath his clothing, among thickly corded muscle was a patchwork of scarred flesh. You’d known about some scars; three of them crept up over the collar of his shirt, partially hidden by the straps he wore around his throat. There was also a collection of them on his arms, and of course, the one under his right eye. The ones that were hidden wove their way across his chest like a roadmap, some of them faint, and others more prominent, pale threads across his already pale skin. You laid your palm against him, tracing the one closest, and he shuddered, leaning into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. Your fingers skimmed down his chest, to his trim waist, and when your thumb caught in the deep v at his waist, he let out a soft grunt. 

One of his hands moved from your waist to your hip, squeezing the plush flesh, then migrated to the apex of your thighs, and when his middle finger rubbed you through the sodden fabric of your panties, a high, breathy whine tore itself from your throat. He pressed harder, and your back arched, eyes falling half-lidded when he circled your clit through the fabric.

Then, without warning, he was pushing the cloth aside, and the feel of his calloused finger dragging across your entrance was enough to make you jerk in his hold.

He dipped his head, forehead making contact with your shoulder, and it took you a moment to realize he was watching himself, observing the sight of his hand between your legs. When your hips twitched, he used his opposite hand to hold you steady, effectively forcing you to stay in place as he did what he pleased with your body. 

“Please,” you whispered, and that was all it took for him to tire of his teasing, sinking his finger inside you with a slow, indulgent movement.

You gasped, the sound bleeding into a moan when his finger curled inside of you, and he pushed you down, forcing you to take him to the knuckle. You whispered his name as he curled his finger again, and when he added a second finger, you squeezed your eyes shut. He groaned at the sound it made when he thrust his fingers into you, the lewd, embarrassing schlick of you around him, and you had to take a moment for your jumbled thoughts to catch up with you. His fingers were so much thicker than your own, not to mention longer, and he was hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. He thrust again, and you cried out, hips twitching, causing him to tighten his grip. 

The curl of his fingers hit a spot inside of you that made you see stars, and when he felt the way it made you tighten around him, he began to abuse it with everything he had. 

“Oh, Gods,” he groaned, “you’re so wet.”

You could do no more than gasp as his palm ground against your clit, and he held you there, forcing you to take it as he pressed in slow, maddening twists of his wrist before replacing his palm with his thumb.

It was arousing how easily he could manhandle you, and you had absolutely no desire to fight against him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. You were getting close, embarrassingly quickly, and you could do nothing to stop yourself from hurtling towards that end, walls throbbing and contracting around his fingers.

One of your hands shot between you, encircling his thick wrist, and you weren’t sure what the purpose of that was, either to push him deeper or simply to find purchase, but you did know that your desperation made his dick twitch where it was pressed between you, forcing him to stifle a groan.

You convulsed in his hold, hips jerking in his iron grip, his name on your lips, and with a final press of his thumb against your clit, you came hard around his fingers, biting down into his shoulder, and he worked you through it with slow thrusts that made stars and celestial bodies dance across your closed eyelids. You called his name, urgent and drawn out, yet high and needy, and he replied with a groan of his own, his free hand flying from where he was holding you in place to wrap around his own cock, palming it, thumbing the head, forcing a moan from between his teeth.

You slumped heavily against him as you fell from your high, and when he withdrew his fingers, you let out a shuddering breath, the sensitivity sending your thoughts into nonsense. Your head was spinning, thoughts in a daze, and all you could feel was him as he panted for breath. 

Seconds of silence, only interrupted by heavy breathing, passed before you rose on unsteady legs to discard your panties before you were settling over him once more, and he watched with hazy eyes as you shifted forward, pressing your bare cunt against the underside of his shaft in a slow grind. His mouth fell open in a silent cry, brows pinching upwards, the sensitivity clearly unbearable. Suffocating, maddening lust worked its way through your bloodstream like a toxin, and you knew he needed more, from the way his hips rutted up in halfway thrusts as you rubbed against him.

“Fuck,” he choked, head falling back as the tip of his cock caught against you, “I wanna–”

You rocked forward, and his entire body jolted, tearing a groan from deep in his chest.

“What do you want?” You asked, breathless, and he lifted his head to look at you, the fog of desire in his eyes downright sinful.

He yanked you close, trapping his cock between your bodies, and into a frenzied kiss, his restraint all but gone as he unabashedly moaned at the feel of your skin. 

“I want,” he husked, mouth pressing open kisses against your jaw, and he stopped, breath hot against your ear, “to be inside you.”

Your breath left you in a rush, and you drew him into a deep kiss, one he returned with vigor, hands smoothing down your body to grab at your hips, pressing you forward and against him once more, and when you pulled back, his eyes were wild with desperation and maddening lust. 

“I don’t have protection,” he said, and you shook your head, dismissing him.

“I’m on birth control,” you said. Siegwinne made the tonic you took, something she supplied even to female inmates to help with lightening periods. But right now, it would be used for its intended purpose. Wriothesley nodded as he took this information in, seemingly relaxing a little.

“Please,” he mumbled, and you blinked, surprised to hear him beg for anything, but you were hardly going to deny him, “I’m going insane. I need you.”

You took a shuddering breath as you shifted up, using one hand to brace yourself as you took his cock in your hand, pressing him against you. You both cried out in unison at the feeling, even the slightest whisper of much needed friction enough to make you feel lightheaded, and you felt his hands grasp your hips, urging you downwards.

You sank down, slowly, and even the tip of him was a stretch, a dull ache blossoming as you pressed closer. Both hands landed on his shoulders, breath heavy, and he groaned lowly at the sensation.

“Slow,” he said, fighting for control, “c’mon, you can take me. Relax, deep breaths.”

You nodded, once, as you did as he instructed. Your knees shuffled as you pressed yourself down, met with more resistance, and forcing you to stop, gasping for air. He was only halfway in and you already felt full, stretched to accommodate him. It was unfamiliar and new, and you weren’t used to this, but his grip was tightening, and with a deep breath, you thrust down, taking the rest of him in one quick motion. 

The sting of the stretch danced across your frayed nerves like a livewire, and you grit your teeth, head slumping forward as Wriothesley let out a long, low groan, both of his hands rushing to your hips, squeezing, keeping you in place. 

A string of curses left his lips as his head fell back, and you could feel him throb inside of you, so deep you could hardly believe it, stuffed full to the brim. 

“Just– oh, or you could just take it all. Fuck,” he quieted, breathing heavily, before speaking again, “are you– did that hurt you? Are you okay?”

The pain wasn’t horrible, and you hesitated to even call it pain. It was just an ache, dull and unpleasant, but you’d been wet enough that taking him hadn’t caused you any actual damage. You sat still as you adjusted, the aching burn of the stretch rapidly fading into something maddening, replaced by a desperate need. 

“I’m fine,” you said, voice strained, “I’m okay.”

He nodded, once, before drawing you close, linking your mouth to his in a kiss far more gentle than you’d expected. You felt him throb, and when you squeezed, you got the pleasure of hearing him groan your name.

“You’re so tight. Please, please– yeah–”

His head fell back as you rocked your hips, lifting yourself up, only to sink back down, and when you repeated the action, he groaned helplessly, a string of almost nonsensical praises spilling past his lips, only serving to make you want to wreck him even further. 

Sheer, uncontained relief was tangled inextricably with every sound he made, his hands squeezing your hips as you took him again, and again, and again, and oh fuck, you felt like you were being split open, impaling yourself repeatedly on his fat cock. The burn from before turned into pure ecstasy, the stretch of him inside of you intoxicating, and you buried your face into the crook of his neck as you moaned out his name. He wasn’t even bothering to stay quiet, not that it mattered, nobody could hear from outside the heavy office doors, which was an advantage right then. 

You keened as his hips rose to meet you, the base of his dick rubbing against your clit. You sank down, taking him fully, ejecting any rational or sensical thought from your head, grinding in deep, easy circles, and you could feel blunt nails digging into your hips as he held you in place, totally drunk on pleasure. 

His grip eased as you slid back up before taking him again, and he was kissing you frantically, one of his hands flattening against your breast, rolling the nipple under the rough pad of his thumb, making you whimper into his mouth.

“Faster,” he hissed, pulling back to meet your eyes, “faster, ride me faster.”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, using them as leverage to move yourself faster, arching your back as the new speed made you see stars, and you whined, burning pleasure shooting through you at the grind of his cock against your clit.

“Good girl,” he groaned, dizzy with pleasure, “yeah, just like that.”

You could feel yourself getting close again, and you groaned his name as you swiveled your hips. Your thighs were beginning to burn with the exertion, even with just the short time you’d been moving at this pace, and when he felt you shudder, his hands found your waist, helping you along.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” Wriothesley panted, “that’s it, fuck me just like that.”

He was moving you with his own hands, easily, and you tried your best to move along with him, swiveling your hips whenever he bottomed out, and his head fell back in rapture, gasping for air. 

Your orgasm was approaching fast, and you were helpless to its pull as you sped up, chasing after it frantically, the sound that filtered through your clenched teeth one of desperation. You felt like you were losing yourself, and when you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his throat, an unrestrained groan fell past his lips, his hips bucking up with enough force to make you see stars. When his thumb pressed against your clit, you tipped over the edge hard, stilling as you clung to him, sobbing his name into the curve of his shoulder.

You tightened to a vice grip around him, throbbing as your climax crashed over you, and you heard him growl at the sensation, hips bucking, still working his cock up into your messy cunt. Before you could even start to come down from your high, you were moving, and the frigid steel of the floor met your back, rapidly heating from contact with your skin. One of his hands gripped at your leg, tucking beneath your knee and holding it up, and then he was driving forwards, hips slapping against yours as he filled you once more.

He paused, shaken by the intensity of the sensation, before his head pitched forward, breath heavy, and he was thrusting again with a renewed vigor, nails digging into your flesh. 

His name was the only thing on your tongue as he fucked you, so good it made you feel like your head was emptying itself out. His mouth found yours as he leaned forward, supporting his weight on his forearm, laid beside your head, giving him more freedom to do what he pleased with his hips. The base of his dick was rubbing against your clit once again, and you whined, squirming beneath him, but he wasn’t letting up.

“Wriothesley,” you gasped, head fuzzy, completely cock drunk as he broke the kiss to mouth at your neck, “deeper.”

He groaned, low and indulgent, and when his hips snapped forward, filling you completely, your back arched against his chest.

“Deeper?” he repeated, the baritone timbre of his voice lowered to an uneven bass, “you want it deeper? That what you want, gorgeous?”

“Please,” you sobbed, “please, give it to me.”

A low, rough chuckle was the only warning you got before he was thrusting forward, hips flush against yours, and he repeated the action, again, and again, and again, making you bite your lip to keep from wailing at the intensity of it all.

“Oh, fuck,” you heard him gasp, stricken, indulgent, “fuck, yeah, that’s it.”

It felt so good you could hardly think, and when you babbled his name, lust drunk and fucked dumb, he pressed soft kisses along the column of your throat, almost like a reward, a thank you for letting him do this to you. 

His pace was growing sloppy, but he showed no signs of letting up, and in the back of your mind, you figured was probably just going to keep on going, even if he came. It was rapidly beginning to become far too much for you, and you moaned, high and breathy, when he rammed himself all the way in, grinding his hips before pulling out less than a quarter of the way, then thrusting back in. He was so deep, and you writhed under him, fingernails scraping against the floor before you were clinging to him. He was moaning, low and breathless, the way he was moving causing you to helplessly spasm around him, forcing you violently over the edge when the base of him rubbed just right against your aching clit. 

You could feel tears, beading at your lashline as the sensitivity became maddening, but he wasn’t letting up, even as you arched and bucked and wailed beneath him, the intensity of your climax rendering you incoherent. He knew exactly what he was doing, just how to push every button he needed to, and you were halfway between deliriously begging for more or sobbing at the sensitivity. 

A string of curses left his lips as he came, gushing hot and thick inside of you, but he wasn’t even pausing, even as his groans tapered into breathy moans from the way he was overstimulating himself. You could feel him, throbbing, pulsing inside of you as he filled you, uncaring of the way his cum  dripped out of you. The sound of it, combined with the slap of skin against skin, was unbelievably lewd, but you hardly had the wherewithal to even think, let alone be any kind of embarrassed. If anything, it only drove you higher. 

“Fuck,” Wrothesley cursed, low and broken, “I need it again, please, again– fuck!”

He shifted back, grabbing at your legs and pressing them down beside you, and you thanked the Archons you were flexible as he continued, leaning forward once he had you in the position he liked and taking your body with abandon. He was hardly bothering to hold back his strength as he hammered into you, and your head fell back against the floor with a soft thud, eyes rolling back. 

You’d never felt like this before in your life. Your legs were growing sore, and your back was going to be stiff from the way he was fucking you into the floor, but you didn’t care, not as you got to listen to the way he was saying your name like a prayer, how he was caressing and kissing your body like it was sacred. Exhaustion was a heavy weight against the blurred edges of your mind, and all you could do was lay there and take it as he chased after what he so desperately needed.

It didn’t take long for him to grow close again, and he whispered your name as his end quickly approached. You yanked him into a kiss, which he returned with a groan of ecstasy, and then, with a final, deep, shuddering thrust, he was cumming. The force of it made his entire body tremble, and the sound he made was one of satiated, relieved bliss as he emptied himself out inside of you, the heat of him almost suffocating, burning you from the inside out.

His hips jerked with unconscious movements and spasms as he drifted down from the staggering height of his climax, his breath heavy, and he slumped, weakened, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. His mouth pressed lazy kisses against your skin, and you lifted a hand to run it through his hair as he finally, finally began to grow soft inside of you.

The two of you lay there, still joined, for what felt like hours, bathing in each other’s warmth and the afterglow of it all. His breath fanned across your skin, feather soft as he lifted his head to join your lips together, before he slowly pulled out, rolling off of you, dazed. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice hoarse, and you arched your back, flexing your body. You winced at the soreness. You were undoubtedly going to have bruises from how hard he had been gripping you. 

“I’m fine,” you said, “are you–”

He snorted. 

“Yeah,” he said, “that uh… that did the trick.”

You laughed, a little breathlessly. You didn’t know how you’d be able to stand after that, genuinely. Your legs felt like jelly, and a deep, all consuming exhaustion was settling over your senses.

“You think it’s gone?” You asked, “the drug, I mean.”

He looked at you sidelong. “I don’t feel uncontrollably horny anymore, so I’d say so.”

Wriothesley sat up, flexing his shoulders. He tucked himself back into his pants, and then he was gathering you into his arms, rising to his feet.

“What are you doing?” You asked, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Taking you to the bath,” he said, “I have a bathtub, in my living quarters.”

You relaxed, settling into his arms. “Oh.”

His living quarters were attached to the office, through a door you’d somehow never noticed before. You were far too tired to take in any of the details of it, instead opting to close your eyes and rest your head on the nearest comfortable spot on Wriothesley’s chest, which he didn’t seem to mind at all. 

He set you in the tub, and after the water was run, you were surprised to see him climbing in along with you. It wasn’t unwelcome, and seeing him completely bare was hardly a bad thing, and you were pleasantly happy when he began to gently wash you, and once he was finished, he tugged you back, settling you against his chest.

The bathroom was silent, save for the musical sound of running water, and you allowed yourself to close your eyes, settling into the comfortable atmosphere. 

“I meant what I said, you know,” Wriothesley said, and you opened your eyes to look up at him.

“What?” You asked.

“About being fond of you,” he said, “you’re… an amazing woman. I want–”

You leaned up, kissing him, and effectively giving him an answer to his thoughts. He sighed into the kiss, content, one large hand rising to cup your face, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone.

“I guess Siegwinne succeeded,” you said, and Wriothesley smiled, amused.

“I guess she did.”

You stayed in the bath much longer than you expected, until the water became cold, and once that happened, Wriothesley whisked you off to the bed, tucking you under the covers after supplying you with one of his shirts to wear. You smiled when he joined you, now dressed in a pair of sweats, chest left bare, and curled up beside you, tucking you close to his chest. 

Sleep came quickly after the lights were switched off, the exhaustion from before spreading over you like wildfire. 

And, when he thought you were asleep, you felt him, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his body relaxing against yours.

BONUS:

You were agonizingly sore. Your stiff muscles had stiff muscles, and while Wriothesley was sheepish, and apologetic, and promised he’d treat you to dinner to make it up (which you would be taking him up on), it made walking back to the infirmary the next morning a little difficult. 

What was even worse was the look on Siegwinne’s face when you entered, ruby red eyes knowing as she watched you approach.

“How’s the duke?” She asked, and you handed her the accursed thermos without saying anything.

“Fine,” you said, slumping down into your chair with a sigh. 

She smiled. “Good. Are you seeing him again tonight?”

You turned, brows furrowed. “How did you know about that?”

She shrugged, unbothered. “Someone saw you leaving his office this morning. I suppose what I put in the tea worked a little too well.”

You stared at her. “Siegwinne, you put an aphrodisiac in his tea.”

She paused, concerned. “No I didn’t. I put a supplement to further enhance his desire for you. If we’re being frank, it’s closer to a love potion. Just to get rid of any inhibitions. It’s medicine. But it isn’t meant to cause anything like–”

You rolled back your sore shoulders. “Yeah, well, it did.”

Her face went pale, but she briefly covered it up. “I… suppose I miscalculated.”

You laughed, then. Really laughed. It startled Siegwinne, who stared at you with growing concern.

“It’s fine,” you said, “whatever, Siegwinne. At least you don’t have to keep going with trying to set us up. Focus your energy on making ‘love potions’ that aren’t aphrodisiacs in humans, okay?”

She flushed, quiet, then nodded, once, her eyes taking on a determined look. You were beginning to regret saying anything. 

With a smile, and a good natured nod, she put her hands on her hips, ever the dutiful nurse.

“I’ll get right on that.”

Fin.

[zoozoozvie]

Three in the bed, two might be cryin'

((it looks like geto's saying he's wet lmao i'm so sorry)

pairing: Satoru/Suguru/Reader ⚣ ⚤ 2k words

content: female anatomy used for the reader. reader is called "good girl". lots of dirty talk towards the end. teasing. squirting. creampie. this got dirtier the more i wrote. suguru fucks satoru and then fucks you.

unsafe sex - putting things in a vagina after anal is Not Good so I tried to remedy it with sugu taking off a condom but it probably still isn't a good idea ♡♡but it's fiction and I say you're ok♡♡

Satoru looks beautiful.

You know that, he knows that, and if you ever admitted it he'd probably act all cool and strut around. Open his big mouth and say “Do you know how whipped you sound for me, baby?"

But now, seeing him hovering over you, a blissed-out mess. You've finally witnessed what true beauty is. Screw the beholders and their eyes, the crystal blue ones peering into your soul are the only ones that matter anyway.

Seeing Satoru Gojo being fucked within an inch of his life could be the very reason you're still sane.

A deft hand skims down Satoru's hip to take hold of his leaking cock, stroking slowly and squeezing hard at the tip, just the way he likes it. A moan is ripped from Satoru's throat. The handsome face of Suguru peers over his shoulder to catch your eye. He is smirking as he squeezes Satoru on the downstroke again.

"Nnngh, Sugu, why do you gotta be so fuckin mean." Satoru slurred.

The man behind him chuckled, "Am I being mean?" He withdrew his hand to place it back on Satoru's hip, fingers digging in to hold him still as the pace of their hips picked up.

"Ugghh, yes. You are," Satoru gasps, "won't even let me in this fucking pussy..." his ramblings turned into nonsense against your chest.

The loud pat, pat, pat of their hips made you squirm. Desperate after waiting and watching them go at it. 

When you first entered your bedroom, Satoru laid you on your back and licked you open as Suguru prepared him. The both of you whined when Suguru dragged him up and away from where he was pleasuring you with his hair, hovering over you with your legs resting on his hips. 

"Hold yourself open," Suguru directed.

You had been quicker, reflexively reaching down and spreading Satoru’s plump, muscular ass cheeks. His hips gave a cocky little wiggle as he chuckled, "This better?"

Suguru whistled, "Not what I was expecting, but good girl."

Unexpectedly, Suguru didn’t allow Satoru to fuck you as he took the man for himself. You were ready to make a fuss, but that was before you were witness to the beautiful men above you. He put his hands over yours as he pressed into Satoru, smoothing up and down Satoru’s back and your legs to give him time to adjust before fucking his hips at an erotic tempo.

If you're sane because of Satoru's beauty, surely Suguru Geto will be the reason you lose your mind.

Now Satoru's dick swings over your sex as they rock, the tip sometimes hitting your folds or tapping your clit. Teasing to no end. Suguru put him in a mean arch to stop his attempts from thrusting into you. 

Satoru chokes out a wheeze at the change, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, please, lemme, lemme..."

"Oh, I think he's close darling." Suguru smirks, violet eyes hungry. He sounds completely relaxed despite the exertion of his core. His voice passively degrades Satoru by keeping his composure as the strongest sorcerer squirms under the abuse of his prostate.

You let out a moan in tandem when you look into the blue eyes above you, content with just watching him fall apart. You couldn't help hooking your ankles over the back of his thighs, trailing your fingers up the muscles on his sides. Before he was propped up on his elbows, now he melted down to bury his face in the side of your neck, chest pressed against yours—both of you sliding together with Suguru's thrusts.

Everything about this position was hot. You were left to imagine that you were the one getting fucked, newfound energy igniting in you to grip and kiss where you could reach Satoru. 

“f…fuuuck…” He was so close when he grew quiet, flexing his muscles as he tightened up. His arms squeezed around you, slipping underneath your back. Your own wiggled out to bend over his shoulders, a hand carding through his damp hair. 

You kissed the side of his head. “Feels so good Satoru.” And he whimpered.

“Atta girl, talk him through it, baby,” Suguru growled under his breath, leaning down to grip Satoru’s heavy cock again.

You could feel him rubbing it over your clit when he began to orgasm. But before you could even moan in appreciation, Suguru budged his knees forward with a hard thrust, angling Satoru’s cock lower into your center. He pushed it inside to the hilt just as he began cumming.

As you gasped, a high-pitched moan came out of Satoru, “Fuck! Oh god… oh my god…nnnghn!” His hips rutted uncontrollably into your heat, jackhammering into you and back onto Suguru’s dick like a bunny. He wasn’t able to have very long strokes, Suguru kept him pressed up against you so every jerk was a hard, sweet grind.

Cold tears rolled down your collarbone when Satoru finally got what he wanted. You moaned as your hips pressed down into the slower rocking, surprised you could take him without any prep. Loud “ah-ah-ahhh’s” fell uncontrollably near your ear, your head turning to catch his lips in a messy kiss, trying your best to convey how thankful you are to see him this way. To be a part of it.

He finally slowed and an embarrassing slurp was heard when his softening cock pulled out of you. Maneuvering his legs over yours while still holding his head to your chest so you could relax your thighs down onto the bed. Although, not for long. 

“Ah!” you gasp and buck your hips as Suguru spits on your pussy. Slim fingers ran up and down your folds, before two plunged in, crooking upwards to rub against the area that gave your body a flash of heat. You were already so wet from his saliva, your own juices dripping out as you watched them, Satoru’s sticky cum, and now Suguru wanted to mark his claim.

“Don’t forget about me, baby.” His sultry voice mumbled. Satoru moaned in disappointment when your head turned from his lips, moving to suck on any exposed skin of your neck and ear he could reach. After his orgasm, he must have felt lazy, heavier even, since he didn’t make any attempts to roll off of you.

Your weak voice stirred with the movement inside you, “Nnn, could never, Sugu…” He chuckled at your words.

“No? You seemed pretty busy there, got your hands full of such a big baby?” 

“Shut up.” Satoru spat after regaining some of his energy, he gave you a few more kisses and then mumbled, “I got it.”

Suguru hummed in approval, and you didn’t have any time to ask before your calves were hiked over his forearms, lower body tilting upwards to rub against the underside of his dick.

“Now I get to have you, sweetheart,” Suguru hums. Deep in thought as he rubs his fat tip side to side over your clit. He smiles as you whimper and twitch. “Satoru was nice and tight, but now I need to feel you raw. Don’t worry, I’ll make you cum quick.” Small amounts of Satoru’s cum threatened to spill out from your clenching pussy at his words. “Sweet girl, so wet for me.” He pressed inside slowly, groaning along with you.

You didn't even notice Satoru’s hands slide up your wrists until he had them in a tight grip, pulling them over your head. With your arms extended, legs held up and open by his thighs, you were officially unable to move. Vulnerable to take whatever Suguru gave you.

Now your body felt on fire. Pussy squeezing Suguru's dick every time he pulled back. Satoru's warm body pressed into yours, holding you down. 

You stared up at Satoru with wide eyes, mouth hanging open at the intensity in their gaze as they both saw your already fucked out expression. His dick slightly pulsed on your lower stomach.

“Holy fuck, you’re so hot,” Satoru says amazed, leaning back down to suck more marks on your neck.

“I agree,” Suguru panted, “Ohh baby, so so good for us, gonna make me cum.” His eyes were watching intently at where you joined, beginning to lose control at the sight of the creamy substance coating his cock every time he pulled back. A white ring circled his base, creating a sticky smack when your skin connected.

Satoru moaned at his dirty words, lightly grinding into you. He mumbled, around your neck, that he was using as a chew toy, “Mmmm, fuck our baby good, Suguru. Been waitin’ so long.”

Suguru chuckled darkly, “I know. Got so wet just thinking about being split open on one of us, maybe even both of us.” 

Your head tilted back as you moaned unabashedly, trying to escape their heated eyes and sexy mouths. Your face flushed so red, so sure you were going to pass out if this kept up. 

Satoru’s wet tongue trailed up your neck and licked over your ear, the uncomfortable feeling making you squeal and flinch, somehow arousing you further as you climbed that cliff.

“His cock feels so nice doesn’t it?” And he’d know, wouldn’t he? “Ah-ah, don’t run away baby. Right here.” He tuts and handles both of your wrists into one large hand of his, the other gripping your jaw to make you look into Suguru’s eyes. “You like getting my cum fucked into you?” 

The humiliation heated you further when Satoru leaned up to get a look at you. Embarrassment of being the center of attention making you clench rapidly.

It all became too much. Suguru’s cock hit so deep and rough inside you, dragging out so deliciously before snapping back in. Hearing his moans in between yours. Satoru’s breath panted into your ear, licking and kissing you so sweetly. Your wrists held firm in his grip when you tried to tug them out. To grab onto something, anything.

“Ohhh sweet thing, are you gonna cum? Pussy’s squeezing so tight around me, oh that’s it, good girl, good girl.” Suguru rambled leaning over the man above you’s back, taking only a second to hike your bottom up higher, pressing your legs together, and drilling into you faster. 

“Ohmygod, fuck f-fuck uhahh please ple…” your voice cut out as your back bowed and tensed sporadically. This feeling was different, too much, not enough, fuck you were going to break.

“Yeah, you’re gonna cum.” Satoru panted.

“Let go, let go ‘fr me, that’s ahhh that’s it baby fuck…” Suguru whined, bowing down to bite into Satoru’s shoulder as his hips stuttered.

The coil in your stomach grew tighter until it finally snapped. Legs shaking and thrown into the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had, soaking the sheets underneath you along with Suguru’s lap. Tears streamed down your face in ecstasy. 

You all but melted. Arms, legs, and neck going limp, lolling your head to the side. Satoru kissed your cheeks and around your eyes when you whined at the beginning of overstimulation, allowing your hands to come down from their hold. Suguru thrust a few more times before pushing as deep as he could go, adding to the mess of cum inside your spent pussy.

Satoru rolled to the side of you so Suguru could lean down and rest his body along yours. All three of you stilling to enjoy the warm fuzzy afterglow of your orgasms.

Satoru giggled, “I like when you do that.”

Your eyelids flickered tiredly, “What? Make a mess?” You were in dire need of a glass of water.

“Yeah absolutely.” then quietly mumbled a few seconds later like a child saying a naughty word, “squirt.” 

“You’re so immature.” Suguru chuckled and groaned.

“And you’re heavy… get off… both of you,” you mumbled before he could nestle closer in your neck.

He hummed in consideration before pushing Satoru away from the both of you, ordering him to get a towel despite his complaints. When he came back the two of them took over wiping you down, cradling you princess-style as the other stripped the bed.

“How’s a shower sound, babe?” Satoru kissed your forehead before you could doze off.

“Mmm, good,” you mumbled and blinked up at him. Suguru came over to rest his chin on Satoru’s shoulder, stroking your bare legs when goosebumps appeared. “I love you.”

Closing your eyes, you missed their smiles and the kiss they shared after responding, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

dividers by saradika-graphics

Tag list:

Thank you for showing your interest in the teaser! Hope you like😘

@xixflower @darylthekidd @dancing--devils @rottencranberrypie @lonely-aqui @zeeturniolo @yourmom23sworld And heyy remember that one poll when I said I would write this? Sorry it took so long😓 @smuttydegenerate @ilovesukunamorethanmyself Thought you might want to see this💗 ily mootie @an-ever-angry-bi

[yunjitsu]

ass. just... ass. nothing more, nothing less. ✨️

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

"such a good girl, taking me so well," levi murmured into your ear, his lips brushing against your earlobe as he slowly thrusted back into you, his cock digging deep into your core.

you were currently bent over the bathroom counter, your legs pressed together as levi pumped in and out of you from behind at an achingly slow pace. the position made you feel tighter than usual, so it was taking every ounce of discipline within him to not give in and drill into you to chase his own high.

still, he was building you towards your own despite the lack of speed and rigor, his cock rubbing up against your sweet spot every time his hips came into contact with yours again.

"open your eyes," he commanded, ceasing to move entirely, causing you to whine in protest as you felt your building orgasm begin to fade.

you slowly peeled your eyes open and your face flushed up in embarrassment as you saw your own reflection in the mirror, your pupils blown wide and jaw slack from how much he had been teasing you throughout the entire night.

"that's a good girl," he mumbled as he began to move again, running his fingers through your hair gently, before gripping at your roots to hold you still. "keep those eyes open for me, yeah? want you to watch yourself become undone when i finally let you cum on my cock."

[rinneroraito]

muLtitasking

Work and pleasure don't mix, or do they? NSFW L x Female reader, 2K+ words, no protection

It's one of those nights for L ever since he has experienced you. Sure, it wasn't something he really sought out before, but there was the afterglow and the evident feeling of his mind being refreshed after a good session with you that he had come to appreciate the benefits of sex. He needs a quick reset, and he's quite sure you'll help him with it. Hopping off of his swivel chair, he makes his way to your side of the office.

"Y/N come with me, please,” He briefly glances at the other Task Force Members who were going about with their own duties. "I require your assistance."

You were in the middle of organizing files and have been looking for an excuse to get away from the boring menial task so as soon as L calls you out, you don't even care that some of the folders fall off the table when you leave your desk. He needed your assistance, and you knew exactly what he meant.

His lips find yours immediately after the door to his room closes. L holds your face close with both of his hands, palms flush against your cheeks, fingers caressing the outlines of your jaw, the underside of your ear. It’s something he had grown comfortable doing ever since you started being intimate with each other. You notice the faint taste of black tea on his tongue as the kiss grows deeper and then he suddenly pulls back, wide piercing eyes full of want gazing at you.

"My apologies for immediately starting, I haven't even asked properly yet. Would you like to have se-"

"Yes," you reply, cutting him off, feeling your cheeks burn from the blood rushing to your face. "Yes, I would like to. You don’t have to ask every time, silly."

“I know, but obtaining your consent every time is of paramount importance to me.”

“Alright… I mean, it is hot when you ask,” you reach out to rake the strands of hair on his forehead before settling your hand on his cheek. Despite the deep shadows under his eyes and his gaunt features, he was still extremely attractive. L closes his eyes at the warmth of your palm, god, you loved looking at him. You notice that his cheeks are slightly flushed. Seems like you weren’t the only one whose blood was rushing to places.

"Very well, thank you for indulging me," he answers, smiling slightly as he leads you to the bed.

After a few more kisses your clothes come away and L finds himself under you as you straddle him. He has openly expressed how he liked this arrangement because seeing you grind while on top of him was "a very stimulating experience" and "increases enjoyment by a factor of 90%" as he says. You dive into the crook of his neck, your breasts pressing firmly on his chest as you plant gentle kisses along the length of his throat. The feeling teases a sigh out of him that quickly turns into a hiss the moment your tongue starts making contact with his skin.

"Th-that feels.... Good," he says almost breathlessly, his hands firm on your hips as you gently edge your drenched pussy along his hardening cock. 

“You like that?”

"Y-yes, keep going… please…"

He's very vocal when you have sex, extremely appreciative, always telling you what feels good for him and also always making sure you feel good, too, when it's his turn to pleasure you. It's something you liked a lot about him, you never have to guess because he'll just tell you.

L writhes against the irresistible invitation of your wet cunt, finding just the right angle to take you in. He struggles at this for a bit because you've started digging your teeth lightly into his neck. You’re filling his senses right now and for a moment he considers that you might be all he needs, your touch, your scent, your taste. The way your mouth set fire on his skin, your fingers traversing the length of his arms, the way your hair caressed him as it fell over your faces and the faint scent of your shampoo. It’s addicting, you were addicting. The sensations are becoming unbearable at this point and he just wants to bury himself inside you where it's hot and wet and fills his head with something other than cases to be solved.

"I'm going to fuck you now."

"You don't need to say it, L just ah-"

Your sentence gets caught in your breath as he bucks into you, sheathing himself right at the hilt. There's a self-satisfied smile on his face when you look down at him as you straighten yourself away from his neck. He continues to stare at you when he pulls himself out and pushes himself back in, relishing in how easy it was for him to just sink himself inside you because of your sopping wetness, basking in the way your eyelids flutter and face contorted in pleasure.

"You f-feel... Incredible... Keep your eyes open for me, alright?"

"G-god, you’re… Haahn… Cheeky," you respond as his pace starts to pick up and you steady yourself on your arms.

Then, amidst the throes of passion within his dimly lit room, a blaring sound breaks. His ring tone.

There's evident annoyance on his face as he hears his phone. Could there have been something he has forgotten? Or maybe it's an important update? He halts from his motions and reaches down to the side of the bed where his jeans were, taking out his phone and an earpiece.

"Excuse me, it's Watari, I'll be needing to take this call."

"Oh, okay. Would you like me to get off of you?"

"No, just stay quiet for me," he presses the screen to his smartphone to take the call, places it right next to his head on the pillow and wears the earpiece on his right ear.

"Watari, talk to me." His grip returns to your waist, keeping you in place. Work was important, but so were getting you to finish. And since you’ve already started, L figured multitasking would be a good choice.

Your eyes widened as he resumed thrusting himself up into you while he conversed with his handler.

"That's good to know. Have you asked about how they'll be documenting it?"

His dark eyes stay on you as you bring a hand up to squeeze your mouth shut, his pace increasing. Was L really fucking you while talking about an important update in the investigation? Dear god, it's taking all of your concentration not to let a sound out. Your moans are converted into sharp exhales and he looks up at you, severely entertained by the state you were in.

"I advice that a camera should be on each prisoner as they write each other's name, also I might need to think up of a specific hmm," he hums softly, closing his eyes for a moment as he feels you clenching around his cock, "gesture for them to do to for further proof that it is indeed the pages from the notebook that executes them."

Seeing him get distracted for a moment instills some mischief in you and you lean down towards him, kissing his lips briefly before your tongue sought out his neck again. 

“Two can play that game,” you purr directly into his left ear before licking the shell-like structure of his helix.

L's breath caught in his throat as he listened to Watari's reply on the other end. He hears you giggling softly, his hold growing firmer around your hips as he thrusted himself deeper into you.

"Good. Could you please confirm which UN officials will be present for the viewing?"

The saltiness of his sweat fills your tongue as you slide it firmly along the groove of his neck. You could feel him struggle to keep his composure, his motions becoming erratic.

"Well," he exhales a quiet and ragged sigh before he continues speaking. "Kindly resend the invitation citing how extremely important their presence would be for the viewing. It is for their benefit also. We're going to need as many of the representatives if not all of them," his eyebrows knit as he pulls himself together, feeling your teeth graze the sensitive length of his throat. "To witness the notebook's capabilities. Yes, they can send a proxy, as long as there’s a representative."

It was honestly, extremely hot how L's still able to speak in his usual monotone and complete sentences even while you were in the midst of fornication. You trail your tongue further up his neck, into his ear again where you nibbled on his earlobe. He swallows a groan back as he feels your warm breath and mouth on his ear, his hips continuing to buck into you.

"Alright. Call me again when the rest of the representatives respond and the schedule is confirmed. Thank you."

The call ends and you whisper into his ear.

"Y-you're a menace, L..."

"Says the person who, ahn, made it more challenging for me to speak," he replies, his thrusts faster. "I could, mmh, feel that you were enjoying it as much as I was, you were, haah, contracting around me every time I spoke..."

You lean away from L's neck to look at him, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, eyes dark and glassy, mouth hanging open as he draws a breath every time he pumps his cock into your dripping pussy. He’s an electrifying mess right now, and the sight of him is enough to get you close to coming undone.

"Y-you're just so-oh, hot,” you manage to whimper out, muscles straining. His thrusts were desperate now, too, fingers digging into your sides. “F-fuck... L... coming..."

"Me too…” he cranes his neck forward to you, beads of sweat trickling down his temples. “K-kiss me right now, please..."

You meet his lips again in a heated kiss, tongues lapping each other up as he practically lifts himself off the bed to plunge himself into you as deep as he could go. Your moans are muffled into his mouth, knuckles turning white as you squeeze the pillowcase around his head, toes curling on his bedsheet as you feel him pulse right inside you filling you up, your walls contracting around him. L groans heavily into your lips, arms now wrapped so tight around your waist that it almost seemed like you were a part of him that he needed so he could keep himself together. You shudder into each other, savoring every second of blissful release.

A string of saliva connects you both briefly as you pull away and he eases himself back down on the bed, arms keeping you tethered to him, breathy sighs filling the corners of his room as your nerves lull into composure.

"I might need more than one round to clear my head,” He says after a few seconds of catching his breath. “I'm still thinking of work for some reason."

"No shit, Sherlock, you just took a call. So much for mixing work and pleasure."

“Ah, well, I didn’t want to interrupt what we had already started. It all worked out in the end, didn’t it? And you enjoyed yourself, too.”

“Good god, you’re impossible.” 

L chuckles briefly at your statement, a sound he seemed to reserve only for moments with you. Smiling down at him you take his phone from where he set it on his pillow and hand it to him.

"Don't take any more calls for the night, as much as that was extremely exciting earlier, it's not safe for work," you say, reaching for the earpiece on his ear and dropping it off to where his jeans were.

"Ooh, word play."

You share a quiet laughter as he manipulates the settings on his phone. He then tosses it to the side and invites you to kiss him again by pressing your back down towards him. He was still laughing when your lips met, so instead of kissing him deeper, you pepper his face with kisses instead. There was this giddy feeling beyond the afterglow that he couldn’t place yet but as you held his face in your hands and continued to peck his cheeks with your lips, all he knew was that this was a moment he needed. And that you, in all that you were, desired him just as much as he did.

[moo-blogging]

Some NSFW thoughts I have been having since work:

Levi has this thing that he loves to do when he's making love to you. He knows when you're about to cum. The way you tilt your head back, fingers digging into the sheets, lips part as inaudible noise escaped with shallow breaths. Your legs spasm as you cum, knees shaking as the pleasure washes over you.

Levi would lift himself up, slowing down his thrust. Your walls throbs and warm cum envelopes his dick. He exhales in satisfaction. He loves watching you dumbstruck after he made you cum. The way your eyes roll to the back of your head and you breathing from your mouth with moans slipping from your lips as your mind is blank with pleasure, it turns Levi on. It makes him feel superior.

Pushing himself slow but deep into you, feeling your warm cum staining his lower parts with every pull, Levi feels proud. He would press his face onto your neck, sucking your skin.

"Cummed, baby?" He'll ask the obvious question.

Swallowing, you nod. Levi pushes himself deeper into you, folding you up. You whimper in overboard pleasure, squeezing your inside. The friction of your walls catches Levi's dick, sucking him in as your cum gushes out. You could feel the wetness increasing with every slam, Levi groaning in pleasure as he forces himself into your slippery and tight hole.

"Fuck, y/n!" Levi groans into your ear, "you're so fucking good!" Levi pushes himself deeper into you, his balls gently hitting your buttcheeks.

Your fingers find their ways into his hair, grabbing into his scalp with every slam. Your knees are weak between his body.

"Buckle up, my princess." Levi kisses your sweat stained face, "I'm going to make myself cum in you now."

And he pulls himself away from you, grabbing your ankles and pulling your legs open, Levi fucks you fast and hard. You could do nothing but arch your back and scream.

[lychniis]

⚘ — YOUR FATE : BOUND IN KNOTS // ZHONGLI.

i. SYNOPSIS : shibari was an artform in your hands, and zhongli your willing model. but hemp ropes, you learn, could barely tie down a dragon provoked. ( aka, my first pwp attempt someone help meee. )

ii. WARNINGS : 5.5k wc. reposted from my alt account. afab ! reader, shibari / rope tying, bondage, dom ! zhongli, sub ! reader, reader and zhongli downbad for each other ( help ), no assigned pronouns but the reader has a vagina, edging, some slight brat taming if you squint, slow sex because zhongli is old and likes taking his time, doggy style / prone bone. reader i tied guys and frustrated and a bit of a gremlin.

this work has been marked mature. readers below the age of 18 / ageless blogs, do not interact. any individual who is not a legal adult or has an age indicator on their page will be blocked without further notice.

# masterlist

THERE IS AN INTIMACY IN THE WAY Zhongli acts around you — between the delicate touches he shares to the comfortable silences spent at home.

There is an intimacy in the way he whispers your name, in how he looks at you ( and his eyes, they light up and they’re the most beautiful thing ), in how he smiles that small smile.

There is an intimacy in Zhongli you knew, locked away in jars as keepsakes to remember.

You liken him to art, in that sense. There were those small similarities, to the deeper nuances within every stroke and the little bursts of imperfections — a smudged spot, a shaky line — you could see if you squint a little closer. And you do, staring at him when you could, taking him in, taking everything in. 

Sometimes you wonder if you could ever emulate all that on paper. The way his nose slopes, or the way his lips curl. You wonder if you could write it down with the justice it deserves, or paint out the heaviness in his gaze and the contours on his face ( six thousand years worth of it ). 

You doubt it; not when mortal hands could hardly scrape the surface. Zhongli says the minds of humans were fascinating things, zipping and bouncing and thinking things too fast, too quick and people could only struggle to keep up with them. 

You find yourself feeling the same way. 

It wasn’t sexual, your initial request. You liked trying out new things, and rope tying found its way to be one of them. The Inazuman who provided the classes called it kinbaku and he taught you and a few interested onlookers the basics over a workshop tucked away in the quieter streets by the harbor — knots, ties, how to tighten and loosen rope and how to undo it all. He taught basic safety and the best materials to use, and hygiene and treatment. It took a week, maybe two, perhaps a few days more.

Then you return home, and bask in your newfound knowledge in the lonesome times of the day, where your thoughts are a little louder. You itch to show it off and it gnaws at the back of your mind with reckless insistence. The rope you impulsively bought was tucked away at the back of the closet with everything else that best stays from unwanted eyes. Even Zhongli didn’t know of it till you mustered up a bit of courage and pulled the bag out.

“Can I try it on you?” you ask Zhongli as he takes the rope and tests it between his hands. His gaze is thoughtful, curious and he tilts his head at the question. “I just want to try out some of the techniques I learned.” you add quickly in a moment of fluster. You do not understand why your cheeks felt so hot. But Zhongli was beautiful, and as a canvas — well you would rather not let your thoughts head there.

( Breathe. This is fine, breathe.

Something deep inside you screams viscerally. You smack it away and cover it up with a metaphorical carpet. There, all gone. )

“I’ve heard of shibari in passing through the centuries. Considering you have a little more knowledge on it than I…why not?” He hands you the rope with a hint of a smile. There is expectancy there, and a flash of something else. You falter just a little ( you know what you saw, you did ). 

Oh.

Oh so you really were doing this.

It’s just for aesthetics. You slap yourself internally and take the rope, watching Zhongli glide the bed with an effortless sort of grace. It’s mesmerizing to look at sometimes, how he feels akin to something ungraspable, immaterial like cloudy whisps or the mountain mist in the break of dawn. But there was solidity too. There was the tremor, the sound of footfalls, the way the mattress sinks beneath him; real, there, present.

Zhongli beckons you to come close. He rests his chin on his hand and there is amusement set awash. “Is something wrong?” Yes, you feel hot all over. 

“Love, I do not doubt your capabilities one bit. But I doubt you could tie me up from all the way there.”

You blink. “Right! Right.” you mumble and shuffle forth, watching him unbutton his coat, his waistcoat, his gloves. With the layers being stripped down to his bare torso and pants, and his eyes lidded in a languid — almost imperious — stare, you begin.

A diamond harness first, something that can tie his arms as well. It’s a simpler one for the struggling novice that is you and the mistakes were easier to unmake ( you do not want to think of the potential catastrophes of trapping him in shibari hell. The humiliation would be horrific ). “You’ll let me know if it gets uncomfortable, right?”

“I highly doubt anything could deter me.” he quotes solemnly in turn. 

“Now you’re just joking.” you kiss his cheek and he has the audacity to chuckle, nose brushing up against yours with fond nuzzling in store. You feel your chest fill with far too much at once ( it’s warm and exasperating and you love every bit of it ).

“It’s you.” he says instead, and there is a sincere weight to it. “And I fail to see why I shouldn’t trust you, dear heart.”

He kisses your wrist and stays still, letting you weave the rope around him. A column tie, a few tugs, a mistake, undoing it all and starting over. You furrow your brows as you work and you let yourself slip into the task with every bit of thought pouring into it like a vat of water. You shift around Zhongli, lean in close and fail to notice how he stiffens beneath your touch. Maybe if your head wasn’t so far into the clouds, you might have.

Zhongli is watching you while you work. This, you notice, for his rapt attention holds an intensity that burns holes in most. You feel a little mousy and slow your movements. You realize taking your time was a wiser choice. Ah, you learn something every day.

Your fingers press up against his palm as you bind his arms down, carefully tugging his hair out of the way lest it get caught. Your knuckles graze the column of his neck — the contact fleeting, a wingbeat. You glance at him. He was steadily getting warmer to the touch and you could see his ears flush scarlet. “Are you okay?” you, concern settling fast. You maneuver in front of him with a position a little too awkward for you to be comfortable.

There was hunger in his gaze. The first glimpse of a dragon prodded and poked too much. The bells in your mind let out their tolls ( it’s resonant, loud ) and you almost speak up. Then it is gone and he looks upon you with placid reassurance. A slate wiped clean. A beast laid to rest.

“I am fine. You may continue.” Your fingers tighten around his arm for a nervous moment. You search his face, the marks beneath his eyes for scales or flashes of fang beneath his lips. None. Your shoulders sag.

“Alright.” you almost sound disappointed; but really, what did you expect? Your boundaries were drawn and Zhongli would stand by them as he always done. He is a darling for that, so you let it be. The frustration sparking inside your chest aches like a flash burn. A painful moment before it dissolves.

The final band was knotted in place and you step back with a sigh, proud of your new accomplishments. It took well over half an hour to finish with, and a bit more rope than you expected. Two whole pieces, with the rest 

“Is it too tight?”

“No.” he sounds breathless. “It’s fine.”

You tug at the rope, testing the tautness and reason that he is fine. Then you tilt his chin up, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “Thank you for being patient.” you add gratefully, adjusting a few wonky binds by hand. You take him in — really take him in this time.

The trembling beneath your chest is a deluge of many things at once. The more fleeting fancies as you rove his form. The more palpable ones, like the awe that surfaces. The forbidden little scraps of smugness, for fettering a god like this is hardly a sight oft witnessed ( and yet you did it, despite that ). 

He is beautiful. 

It makes your heart squeeze. Your touches are innocent, explorative, tracing the indents of flesh, how muscle sinks beneath tight knots. The struggle, the errors, the silly slip ups seemed a far away annoyance with the results at hand. It was worth the wait, and the classes and the sinking embarrassment and that first damning step asking him for his time. A greedy part of you wants to drink him in forever, keep this moment trapped in time for your own guilty pleasures. 

You touch and touch and touch, a vessel of curiosity and admiration. He shudders. His eyes squeeze shut and he looks wound up, like a bowstring, like something was gripping too hard at the edges.

“Zhongli…Zhongli are you certain you’re all right?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t seem like it.” You lean closer and check. Perhaps through the feverish daze you lost yourself in, you missed something. Maybe there was an uncomfortable knot. Maybe the wrists were tied too tight. There are many things you could think of and the heat of Zhongli’s breath on your neck is what draws you back immediately with a widened gaze.

There were a rare few who could tug at Zhongli’s stringed patience and suffer little consequence, partly due to the seemingly endless reserves of it he holds much like the gold he bleeds. The other end of the matter was simple closeness; Hu Tao with her youthful impishness and eccentricities, Cloud Retainer who’d nag him as an old, old friend and you, who holds his heart with mortal hands and him, your own.

And in his eyes, you see those threads snap.

“Untie me.”

You nip down on your lips. You know that look. You know where this is going and hot blooded excitement stirs inside. 

“What will you do to me if I listen?” 

If he were free, you’d like to think he’d have grabbed you then, given your hips a rough squeeze, let out a tense growl. “You know well, dear heart. Now, untie me.” 

The order leaves no room for argument. You nod your most obedient nod and undo your work. You wish you could have witnessed it a little longer; but when the ropes finally fall away, Zhongli pulls you closer, and you feel heat beneath your fingertips when you steady yourself. It’s like a forge fire, fed with an intent to fold iron and melt steel. 

He’s touching you everywhere, stealing kisses that you think could swallow you whole. Your clothes are tugged away one by one. You have no time or need to bask in shame. Zhongli made sure to tear that down a long time ago.

“Stay still now,” he whispers.

He starts tying you up. There is a lump of excitement that grows in your throat. You give him tips, pointers and he’s quick to learn from instruction and observation alone. As the moments tick by and your bare skin kisses the cool sheets below you, Zhongli takes his time, like he’s partaking in the finest of indulgences.

You try not to focus too much on the growing heat between your legs or Zhongli’s heated stare. The bustle on the street draws your attention — the clamor, the stalls, the distant opera performance. You recognize that dulcet tune and the flush to your cheeks ebbs away.

Then his fingers dip down and stroke your cunt.

“Eyes on me.” he demands. You yelp, feeling a jolt streak through. The final knot is tightened and he turns you over like a man starved. Zhongli favored many dishes in his feasts, delicacies that ranged between eloquent tastes and visual delights. He regards you with that same gleam. You part your lips. “Hm…how enticing.”

Your eyes flutter shut, resisting the urge to dig into the sheets with a bratty scowl. “Zhongli.” you breathe. “Will you touch me?”

He tilts his head, his smile teasing. “Where?” he asks, grazing your stomach, your thighs, your calves. You cannot muffle out the mewl you let out, arms bound fast. You tug at the ropes. They burn a bit, barring any movement. It’s frustrating and it’s arousing and you want to taste more. 

“You know where.” you snap back, legs coming to part.

He touches the inside of your thigh, sun catching gold and his glamored markings. “Here?” He tests, needle point attentiveness drinking in how you squirm, how you pant and shake your head with a vexed bite to your lips. 

“No. higher. A little higher.” you can feel the dampness pool down. You know he can sense it too, his cheeks dyed a soft pink. Still, he grazes away from where you want him, and you scratch at the hemp fibers with little success as he only just traces over your outer labia and settles just below your navel. 

Your toes curl inwards and you give him a playful, antagonizing kick to his knee. “I think you’re trying to tear me apart.” you declare, till your voice catches and shifts to a subdued squeak as he grabs the intruding foot and hauls your lower half onto his lap ( and you’re taken easily, heart set aflutter ). The exposed vulnerability, the way he spreads your legs apart, it jars you.

“Indulge me.” he purrs his assurance, pressing up to the soft flesh of your thigh. You feel his arousal graze your back, clothes yet impossibly hard. 

A twitch, a shuddering gasp; you grind up into his stomach in a demand to proceed.

Indulgence, in Zhongli’s words, is a slow process of perceiving, savoring and reacting. He tells you so as he pours expensive teas in cups of clay, steel or porcelain and has you smell the aromas and still your nerves to a slowed tempo. Indulgence, it’s a word that feels like saccharine honey, like something rich and syrupy that messes your tongue and weighs it down. 

Perhaps, his favorite part of it was savoring the bite. Feasts are feasts, tea is tea and pleasure is pleasure — every moment of enjoying it is deserving of its own pace. 

It is madness.

He’s moved you once more, resting your back against his chest where his heartbeat is a deafening  rumble to your ears. It speeds up every time you let out a moan, rabbiting through with unbridled excitement and strained patience. Yet…yet he keeps himself together. It’s unfair, how he plays his cards and tilts them away when you beg for a view. 

“Zhongli.” you mumble, heavy beneath the haze. You gave up trying to fight your bonds. The rope is of good quality and is stronger than it seems. You curse yourself for that choice, after the swift regression of your initial intention. Breaking free felt like such a far off dream. Zhongli replies with a curious hum and a tilt to his head. His hands cup at your breasts, tweaking at your nipples, pinching, prodding in silent demand. 

It flares up, that annoyance. You want to touch him, to drag your nails across his pectorals and feel that heartbeat beneath your palm. You want to claw at his back as he fucks you into the bed. You want so, so much and it’s building inside in numbers and need. It;s spilling over the edges. You want to cry ( it feels so good ).

A gasp. He presses his teeth to your shoulder, leaving deep indents into your collar. It will bruise in the future, but you care little, whimpering as veins rupture and pain steeps into the pleasure. Your mind sinks into a hazy delight, all cotton and clouds and tartness — and the safety of Zhongli’s arms around you while he touches all he could. 

“I think you’re being — AH — petty…” you could hardly articulate. But you’re greedy. You want more. It’s a neediness that slowly creeps up and tangles into your chest like a network of vines. He could have you however he pleased, in whatever position he wishes. You just want him to cease his teasing. You want to feel the burn of his skin, to bite, to mark him yourself. 

“Am I?” he asks, feigning innocence, grinding his hips up into your heat. Your mouth falls open but the sound that escapes is strained. “I suppose I am in need of some introspection, yes? Would you like to aid me, little love?”

You headbutt his jaw gently with a garbled ‘no’, your breaths outpaced. You have a thousand trapped butterflies battering in your ribs. Zhongli lets out a sharp breath, a muffled laugh ( you catch sight of his face. The amused crinkle in his eyes. The smile that threatens to show ). 

He sates your offense with a kiss, deep, slow, soft till tongue laves away at the seam of your lips and you let him in. Your debauched whine is cut short; he pulls you closer with a hunger patience cannot hide, close, so close till your chest is flush against him. He pulls away, wet lips leaving a damp trail of kisses down your neck, your chest, nipping at your nipples with a pleased huff. 

“Is this alright?” he asks, stopping to look at you.

“If you’re not going to tease me anymore.” you mumble. “Then yes.” 

“Noted.” he has the audacity to look cheeky as he pulls at a knot and snaps it back in place. You yip, dragging against his shaft and the hiss Zhongli slips out is music in the midst of cacophony. That bit of control is reined back quickly, however. Zhongli knows how to tune out the best noises and play your notes into a sifting melody. He learns fast and he learns diligently and he knows where to drag those knots and have you fold into him with pathetic little moans. 

He lays you back, fingers splayed along your knees as he parts your legs and slots himself between them with a thoughtful sigh, taking you in once more. “You’re beautiful.” he tells you, with all the sweet sincerity in the world. You’d be a fool to call him a liar when he looks so smitten. “I should buy a kamera one day. I’d like photos of you.”

Your cheeks heat. “You would?” you ask, feeling warm, fuzzy and your core clenches around emptiness. 

He casts you a puzzled glance. “Why wouldn’tI?” he asks, as if the idea was not a compromising slip, rather an innocent request. “Wouldn’t you want some of me?” he dips down, kissing your thighs and he’s smirking against skin. You jolt, cry out ( “Zhongli!” ) and turn your face into the soft pillows in anticipation.

A kiss. “I know you loved seeing me tied up.'' His taunts are effective. Your mind claws into that fantasy like a feral beast. It pleasures in it, delight lining its panting. You did like seeing him tied up. “And I'm certain you wouldn’t object to a few photos of me.” Another kiss. He was close. So close. You feel sensitive, so sensitive and you want, want, want.

Silence.  

His pause goads you to finally meet gilded amber. “It could be a dirty secret…a private contract if you will.” 

You scream.

His tongue was hot, hot against you and you didn’t quite expect the rawness you felt or how wet you were for him. You couldn’t move much and his hold on your hips is an unfaltering thing. He doesn’t wish to be disturbed while he feasts, licking away at your slick till you fumble beneath him.

“MmmMH, m-more.” you groan. You’d have liked to grab at his hair, tug at it a little while you try to catch your breath, every bit of you frazzled and coming apart at the seams. Zhongli huffs, pulls you closer and kisses your clit, then your entrance, drunk in his own way. You see control come away. He’s close to snapping and you shift and press your cunt into his mouth, a craving to watch it shatter. 

“How impatient. How impertinent.”

Zhongli’s coo stills any misbehavior. He eats at you, sucking, nibbling, licking away at all the spots that unravel your being. You mold into his hands like soft clay, and he shapes you, lets you set, pulling away for a few teasing moments before returning to a mix of slick and saliva and a mess that he ( for all his poise and elegance ) revels in. 

There is lust there, a need, a contentment over this. Indulgence, indulgence in its finest form and Zhongli savors the feast with intent and little shame. Some may call him a fool, for a god to fall so far. But he was a god no longer and what were mortals, really, with no desires of theirs to chase?

A finger slips in. You curl up, lifting a leg over his shoulder with a needy, desperate keen. He is careful, delicate, languid and maybe a little cruel in his slow pace. In the far reaches of your lost thoughts, you’re reminded of your first time, where the sting was a little more painful and a little less easy. It’s one of Zhongli’s quiet prides, how the two of you learned to take each other so well, like magnets to metal. His digit sinks into you easily and he passes a pleased lift to his lips.

“N-no more teasing, right?” you ask, voice muffled by the pillows.

“No more teasing.” he promises. “At least, not for tonight.”

You roll your eyes and turn to strain your neck. Zhongli understands, moving up to seal it with a kiss and returns below, beginning his slow thrusts in and out and in. You moan unobstructed, just for him, him to remember. It’s too little yet too much at the same time, a paradox in a paradox of pleasure. You want more. You gasp into the air when he curls into that spot, dragging himself lazily through the motions.

He bends down, takes your clit in his tongue and one finger becomes two.

The restrictive bonds around you, the ones he tugs from time to time dig down hard. You hope they leave marks, reminders. You hope Zhongli looks at them as he bathes you and asks for more. His pace is still slow, but he thrusts hard, taking care to keep his strength tempered through want. It batters you. You love it. You love it so much.

Good. good, you want more.

“Yes…” you sob. “Ah…yes…love, my love…” 

He shudders, flicking your clit with his tongue, keeping his fingers at pace, slick and saliva coating his lips. Zhongli spreads your legs just a little more, pulling you up at an angle with far better reach. Your nerves are abuzz. Everything is and your release is achingly close. He promised he wouldn’t tease you, that you know and you wait, you chase, you cry out with no hands to mute yourself. 

His fingers stretch you out and strokes at your sweet spot with a persistent passion. Your hips jolt and twitch and shudder then you release and Zhongli takes it in, continuing to slide in and out of you. Your trembling as that rope snaps and he pulls out, licking at his fingers and rubbing at your sides soothingly.

“Mh. good.” he praises. “You did well. So well.” 

“I want more.” you choke out between the garbled tears and your lightheadedness. 

Zhongli kisses your cheek. “I know.” he assures you. “Comfort first. You’re exhausted. Would you like me to untie you?” You shake your head. You want to keep the helplessness close. You like the flavor of it. Zhongli hums. “Alright. And you remember our safe word?” He kisses your nape as he carefully turns you over, belly down. 

He loosens some of the knots and pushes some pillows below you for your ease. The fabric is cool beneath your touch, a medley of silks and cottons that you take in. They all smell like him, like sandalwood and tea. He presses against you flush, free hand unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants. He doesn’t remove them all the way. You think his control has slipped too far for that.

And that draws a tired, smug smile from you. Zhongli nips the shell of your ear in teasing response. Don’t get too cocky, he seems to say. You won’t, you assure him. 

“Spread your legs.” he instructs. You obey, twitching and shaking. He shifts a thigh in and chuckles. “Wider.” 

“Wider?” you repeat.

“Wider.” he nods and you do so. He settles between you easier and you stay open and exposed, fists clenching uselessly behind you. Zhongli places a hand there, lacing your fingers with his own. You feel him against your leg. He’s hard, so hard and your mouth waters for it as you hungrily hold his hand for dear life, hoping to be grounded lest your bones give way and you float out of this body while in wait. 

A moment, then another. His comfort eases your muscles into relaxation. You feel his tip slide past your outer lips. It nudges your clit ( and there it was, that pressure slowly building in the bit of your stomach like a rope near snapping ). You pant, bury your face into the sheets and wait, wait for him to move. The tiny sparks were enough to send you reeling. It was liquid want that boils your veins now. 

“You said you won’t tease me.” you accuse. Your voice pitches to something hysterical. You want to tug at his hair, his ponytail, anything, but you settle with his fingers and try not to think about gently gnawing at them if it means he ceases whatever…this is. You’re going to crumble to dust if he keeps this up — you’re sure of it. 

“I’m not.” he states, blinking and he’s smiling, this bastard. 

“I’ll bite you.” you swear. “I’ll fucking bite you if you keep this up.”

“Bite me then.” He seems distracted till he lowers his head by your ear. It tickles, the proximity and you instinctively flinch away. “Do that and I'll see to a fitting punishment.” 

You could do it now. But punishments mean scraping away the nicer things in favor of twisting pleasure into torture. You loved your share of masochism on days when your mind was abuzz and too jittery. Now, you want him inside you. You want to rest. You want Zhongli.

He knows. He moves a bit of hair away from your forehead. “Are you relaxed?” he asks, beginning his gradual push into you. Your lips part into a wordless keen. He kisses your cheek. “Alright.” A whisper. You can hear the shudder, the softest tremble in his voice.

Zhongli is diligent when it comes to preparing you. Maybe that is why he isn’t too fond of quicker sessions behind the scenes, where the strain from taking his cock was a little harsher than he’d have liked. He holds you close now, slipping through the cracks and you think he might bleed into you with how close you’re borne to him. “Easy now…” he soothes a sting. He rubs your arm and kisses your neck. “You take me so well, see?”

You wonder what you look like, beneath him, to bring forth that flush to his cheeks. To watch him tremble, reel with lust. 

( You look like art.

To Zhongli, he likens you to wine, to pleasant summer nights, and the comforting things that make his old heart squeeze. He likens you to home, to the human moments, the tinier flashes that remind him of love and loss and chip away at the stone that ages him.

You’re beneath him now. He’s seen this sight before. But oh, to watch you fall apart and tremble with lust and adoration, into a beautiful sort of mess stirs something primal deep inside. It always wins, even by a hair’s breadth or a long margin. Zhongli knows the dangers of it but he could never truly control himself around you. You’ve ensnared him that way, wholly, completely. 

Zhongli finds solace in it. He lets it constrict his heart. For you are you and he loves you. )

He bottoms out. He’s deep so deep and the sheets fall prey to your teeth and block away the desperation and the whimpers. He buries your nose into your neck. “Qīn ài de.” he mumbles. “Call me that again.”

You tilt your head. Your cheeks burn but there is tenderness in your eyes. “My love.” you whisper.

Zhongli grits his teeth, following it by rolling his hips into you. The sudden thrust nearly knocks the wind out of your lungs. You buck back into him in turn, mumbling out keening, unintelligible nonsense. “Again.” he mumbles. He sounds drunk. You shut your eyes between the tears and the moans. 

“L-love. Zhongli, m-my love — ” it’s an echo. You could barely manage stringing it together. Zhongli’s lips part. He shuts his eyes in bliss, his movements slow, careful but hard in ways that make your teeth rattle and your limbs feel boneless. He mouths open kisses at your neck, your back. 

You press up into the mattress, fucked into it with little mercy yet so much raw affection in how he holds you. There are so many things you want to say. The words could not form. You keep them to yourself. His hands grope down, fingers slotting between your legs. The mess you leave behind is pooling, dripping into the sheets. You feel shame sting at your ears. Zhongli does not care.

“You’ve been good.” he utters into your neck as he cants his hips. You let out a broken sound the moment he drags it against your sweet spot, and he takes it onto himself to gently peel you apart and let pleasure still your senses and every pore inside you. You’re pinned down, you let him use you as he pleases. He devours that chance and he devours you. “Mine, my qingxin.” 

“Yours.” you sob. “Yours.” you’re full. Full of him, full of cock, and you let it consume every bit of you, down to flesh, down to bone. He touches your clit, sensitive, sore and you scream into the sheets, sob, beg — for what, you have no clue of it. You jerk at the binds and his free hand curls round the rope, tugging you up into him, raking across indented skin with a famished groan.

Zhongli thrusts. He thrusts into you, and his tempo stays steady and his face stays flushed. That peak however, it approaches fast and easy, with how you’re being worn down by his sweet words. His hand finds yours again. You give it a squeeze and glance at him through the tears. “Z-Zhongli.” you sob. “Zhongli.”

“I know.” Zhongli does not slow. You’re going to crumble. Your foundations will weather. You’ll be air perhaps, or dust. It feels that way. “Come. Come for me, love.”

You don’t immediately. Not yet and he strokes your clit harder, faster, aiding where he can till that pressure comes loose and you slump into the pillows and sheets with a garbled moan, twitching, writhing. One of his hands rests at your side and the other steadies your form. He continues to thrust, quicker, sloppier, the noises he makes are messy and obscene and wet and you’re left so so sensitive and it feels so good —

“I love you.” You slip out.

He kisses you. Hungry. Tender. Everything at once. His weight is a comfort against it all. You shut your eyes. He continues to fuck you, well into overstimulation till your mind is foggy with little thought. At some odd point, as the fuzziness clears, you think you feel him groan and twitch, then something hot and wet spilling onto your back. 

The ropes fall undone. The harness constricting your chest, your arms. He rubs down the burns and massages any sore spots. “Was it too much?”

You shake your head.

He coos. Zhongli loves taking care of you and you let him, feeling his weight shift and a cool cloth wipe you down. Water is next, as is the routine, sipped as you seat yourself on his lap and he kisses your shoulders and the bruises. You feed him a slice of sunsettia before having one for yourself. Then some of the apples. It’s sweet. It’s comfort. 

He leans his head into your neck. “We need more rope.” he mumbles.

“More rope?” you gawk.

“I could choose colors that suit you better.” a pause. “And we need a kamera.” he adds. Now you’re gaping.

“Zhongli, Zhongli I adore you but the mora — ”

“I’ll have Northland Bank foot the bill. They have plenty.” cheeky bastard. He kisses you. “Let this old man enjoy the little things, love. Or would you consider adding it to my list of birthday presents?”

Oh, this man. You sink down and finish your sunsettia slice. You take one more, pressing it to his lips. He takes a bite. Chews thoughtfully.

“I’ll consider it.” you sniff. ( “How haughty.” he croons into your neck. You shake your head. ) “Maybe I might just buy one for you.”

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

*screams* after the upheaval of my smut alt...yeah i thought of reposting here for the sake of comprehension XD. so don;t panic guys. it's right here. *praying that i don't get nuked*.

many thanks to the sweet comments i received in the old post and all the reblogs. really, you guys are igfghjk.

taglist — @silentmoths @crystalflygeo @moraxsthrone @silkjade @meimeimeirin @euniveve @sheepmc @chiyoso @timeofsilversstuff @francisnyx @laughterofthetombs @ollieink @localplaguenurse

AINE | lychniis. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

[happybird16]

Hoshina loves to bite, leaving little red and purple marks along the column of your neck and along the rounded fat of your breast. He enjoys watching your skin flush under his touch, reveling in the way your body reacts to each nip and suck. The sharp press of his teeth leaves you gasping, hands scrambling along his shoulders for support. The soothing warmth of his tongue follows, making you squirm in his grip and resulting in an excited snort from the man diligently lapping at your skin.

"Hold still for me darlin'," he breathes. His hips churning into yours, the evidence of his excitement throbbing hot and hard into the crease of your thigh. "'M almost done." His rough hands trail posessively over your curves, caressing the places he's claimed with his mouth. Each bite is a promise, a declaration of his desire and adoration.

He takes particular pleasure in leaving marks that will remain beneath the collar of your shirt, but only barely so. He likes the edges to be just barely visible, hinting to the intimacy you share. The thought of people seeing them makes your face flood with heat. Hoshina's breath is warm against your ear as he whispers softly, his voice a mix of teasing and affection, "You're mine."

The words send an excited shiver down your spine. Leaning back, Hoshina's sharp eyes trail over your bare form, lingering on each and every mark. His hand comes up to caress the curve of your breast, his rough fingers tweaking a nipple, making you gasp. "Beautiful," he says softly. It's strange- he almost sounds breathless, something rare even on the battlefield.

His gaze remains intense, filled with a mixture of pride and affection as he admires the evidence of his touch on your skin. The sight of his handiwork, coupled with the soft sounds of your pleasure seems to enrapture him. His fingers continue their exploration, drawing soft circles around your sensitive flesh, each touch sending an electric pulse of pleasure through your body.

As he leans in, his lips find yours in a kiss that is both tender and possessive. The warmth of his mouth is a stark contrast to the cool air around you, grounding you in the present, in his embrace. Suddenly, you realize how soaked you are, how much you ache for more of his touch. "-Soshiro-" you whimper, rolling your hips up into his.

His name on your lips ignites a spark in his eyes. He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his expression a mix of desire and adoration. "Tell me what you need," he murmurs, his voice husky with longing. His hands roam your body, exploring familiar terrain with renewed intensity. "Say it."

Your breath hitches as you feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against you. "More," you manage to say, your voice trembling with anticipation. "I need more of you."

Hoshina's smile is both reassuring and predatory. "I can give you that," he promises, his tone laced with certainty. His fingers quickly wander between your thighs, calloused fingertips gathering the slickness there and working quick circles into your clit. The intensity of his touch makes you arch into him, a desperate moan escaping your lips. Teeth bared, his eyes look almost red with a salacious hunger, "You'll be dripping my cum for days."

[dreamtuna]

You Can Give Me More

Attack on Titan - Levi x Reader || smut, fem!Reader, delicious overstimulation, "pretty girl"

Levi loves the way your hips buck for him. He loves the way you whine and cover your face in embarrassment at the little noises you make involuntarily. He loves the way you whimper and beg. Most of all he loves you.

You make him weak, especially when you cum for him so sweetly. The way your hands grip his arms and your nails dig into his skin and your lips part, making that facial expression that only he ever gets to see. He strokes your hair, urging you on.

“Can you cum for me again, pretty girl?” he whispers gently, fingers finding your clit and rubbing sweet tormenting circles.

You whine and try to pull back from him but he doesn’t let you squirm away. He shakes his head, lips twitching up in a slight smile. It amuses him how futile your efforts are. You both know that no matter what you’re going to cum again for him. You always do.

“Tch, you can give me more,” he insists, thrusting inside you painfully slowly.

His lips graze over yours as he speaks. His hot breath has you quivering around him and before you know it you’re screaming and crying out his name, tears escaping your eyes as the pleasure and pain of your overworked little pussy mix deliciously.

“That’s my girl,” Levi says, and the pride in his voice almost has you losing it all over again.

[flametrashiraarchive]

Thinking about Gyomei who returns from a long string of missions to find his s/o laying down, staring at nothing. Eyes empty, voice apathetic, like a cup with a hole at the bottom, drained of life.

Gyomei's big frame craddling his s/o, rocking back and forth in comfort, trying to breathe more life into his s/o's depressed form, trying to return the warmth stolen by their mind.

Gyomei ready to give up, when his s/o starts to respond to his touch finally...

... after all his cuddles are the best.

- Beer anon 🍻

Who has two thumbs and gets carried away writing about sad boys 👍😎👍

Thank you for this ask. I loved writing about Gyomei and I hope I did him well!

NSFW and unbearable cuteness beneath the cut.

Softer than Mochi- Gyomei x Reader

Gyomei's chin was tilted down as he listened to you. Ordinarily, your voice brought him familiar comfort, but lately he had noticed the sound of it, along with the scent of your skin, was eliciting a new sort of reaction.

It was both unbearably exciting and incredibly uncomfortable.

"Please continue." He shifted his weight as he sat cross-legged on the rocks. His cheeks were getting warm as you told him about your latest mission. "You pursued the demon through the forest?"

You continued speaking, seemingly unaware of his predicament. "Yes. So anyway, the demon almost got away, but I took it down and managed to save the woman it was trying to snatch away. It won't bother anyone again."

"Ah… good. You did well. I'm proud."

There was a slight shift in the air which told him you'd taken a step forward. His heart quickened. 

"Thank you," you said. "I couldn't have done it without your training."

Instinctively, Gyomei opened his arms to accept your embrace. You hugged him often, and he enjoyed it every time.

You were so soft and precious to him. Most people felt small to Gyomei– even Tengen Uzui who stood six and a half feet tall and had muscles on muscles felt like a willow branch sometimes.

The stone hashira wrapped you in his arms, breathing in your warm and lovely scent.

"My sweet friend," he whispered as you buried your face against his neck, making his stomach flutter. "Your capabilities come from your strength and determination, not from me. I taught you ways to use your tools, but you were the one who built and refined them. And you have already been given your next mission?"

"Yes." Your voice was filled with a conflicting mix of  weariness and determination. The lower ranked slayers such as yourself were always busy taking down weaker demons, while hashira were assigned to the less frequent but more difficult missions. "I have to leave here in an hour in fact. I have a train to catch."

An hour was too little time to spend together, but Gyomei would cherish every moment. "I smell matcha… what is that?"

"I brought you some mochi," you said, placing a paper packet in his large hands.

Gyomei smiled and carefully unwrapped the packet, touching his fingers to the squishy little cakes. They were round, perfectly smooth, and as soft as your cheeks, but each one had two little pointed bumps on top… they felt like ears.

The stone hashira's smile widened. "Are they cat-shaped?"

Your excited laughter was heartwarming music to him. "Yes!"

His chest filled with adoration. "They're almost too cute to eat. Thank you, my dearest friend." 

You sat beside him on the rocks, listening to the roaring waterfall and the babbling song of the river. Your hand rested in his, so small and delicate but somehow so warm and profound. 

"Please be safe on your mission," Gyomei said. "And inform me when you get back."

His heart leapt as you leaned against him, resting your head on his bicep. "I will. I'll come and find you before I do anything else. You be safe too, Gyo."

When you stood, his heart lamented. The air shifted again and he opened his arms to embrace you, but this time you pressed your lips softly to his cheek, your hands resting on his shoulders.

The tingle of your kiss lingered on his skin long after you left for your mission. Gyomei remained seated where you left him, smiling as he thought of you and ate the mochi you so sweetly made for him. The world, for a little while, was very beautiful. 

Gyomei had faced countless demons, he had suffered every brutality, but your gentle kiss hit him harder than anything he had ever known before. Your lips were so soft he could have wept.

***

Five days passed before he heard whispers of your return but you did not come to see him as promised. 

That was unlike you and it filled Gyomei with concern. He walked the familiar path to your home, trying to calm his mind. There could be a number of explanations; maybe you were asleep, maybe you had been summoned elsewhere… maybe you had only said you would come to see him first to humor him.

He reached your front door and raised his hand to knock, but found only empty space in front of his knuckles. He called out your name and heard only silence. His heart plummeted. 

Your door was open and you were not responding. He immediately suspected the worst. But there was no trace of a demon, no sickly scent of death or injury. 

"I'm coming in," he said, so as not to scare you.

Your house was silent, and the air had a strange sort of quality. In the past, your home had been a place of comfort for him, but now when he stepped across the threshold he felt a sorrowful weight in his heart.

"Are you here?" He tried to conceal the worry, but it came out anyway. "My friend, speak to me… please."

"Gyo…" 

At the sound of your voice his heart leapt. He turned toward the sound and took a step forward. 

"Are you hurt?" He asked. 

"No… I'm sorry I scared you."

You were on the floor. 

He crouched close to you, reaching out a hand toward you. "My friend, what has happened? I can hear the pain in your voice."

A heavy silence sat between you. Oh, his heart was aching and he couldn't fathom why. Your voice sounded so empty, so utterly broken. You were sitting on a futon in the center of the room; still and quiet and emanating sorrow. He couldn't hold back from reaching out further and placing his hand upon you. His fingers brushed your forearm and traveled down until he found your hand and held it in his. Somehow you felt smaller… hollow…

He didn't press the issue. You would tell him in your own time. He simply sat with you and held your hand. Gyomei was patient.

After a while you moved. He heard your clothes shuffle, felt the air waft against him as you moved your body.

His heart squeezed as you rested your forehead on his shoulder, and he couldn't refrain from holding you. He wrapped you up in his arms, easing you down to sit in his lap as he surrounded you in his embrace.

You fit so perfectly against him; so small and sacred. He held you with endless love and affection, cradling you in his arms as he rested his chin on top of your head. Something had bruised your sweet spirit, and he would hold you for eternity if he thought it could help you heal.

Finally, you spoke. "I failed, Gyomei. The demon's victims begged me to help and I failed. I couldn't save them."

It was a pain he knew too well, and a pain you would have to make space for in your heart because it would never truly go away.

"I'm sorry. That is never easy."

You pressed yourself closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Please forgive me."

"Oh, little one." His chest ached. He was so bound to your shattering heart that the splinters of it pierced through his own. "How I wish I could take away your pain." 

You trembled as silent sobs wracked your body and Gyomei rocked with you. You mourned the lives you hardly knew and he held you through it as though he could shield you from the rest of the world until the grief was gone. 

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, still weeping.

"You are forgiven, my dearest friend." He knew the apology wasn't truly meant for him, but he also knew you needed a seed of forgiveness to allow solace to take root and start to grow.

You cried your tears until you had nothing left. Finally, you grew still and the tension in your body waned.

"You have such a beautiful soul." He unwound one of his arms from around you and wiped away your tears with his thumb. He smiled, "And the softest cheeks."

You laughed quietly and it mended your hearts a little. "Thank you."

"Please do not be sad anymore. Take this pain and use it to help more people."

"Gyomei…" His name was music when it came from your lips. "You're so dear to me. This mission helped me realize I should make sure you know that."

"You are to me too. You're precious."

The gentle touch of your fingers on his jaw made his heart flutter. You traced the shape of his face as he had done to you so many times before.

His pulse raced. The air between you crackled with something unspoken. Your breaths were shallow and shivering as they blew across his lips. Heat prickled on his cheeks and along the column of his neck as he continued to hold you, dipping his chin to he nearer to you. He was inexperienced but not completely naive. Even if he couldn’t quite believe it was happening, he knew you were thinking about kissing him.

He wanted it too. 

“I adore you," he managed to whisper.

"I adore you too."

His heart pounded as you traced the outline of his lips with your fingertips. It was the most intimate sensation he had ever felt. Each breath he drew took a tremendous effort and barely reached the top of his lungs. This was unlike him; Gyomei was in tune with every muscle in his body, and yet your tender touch weakened him more than he thought possible.

He released you from his embrace and raised his hands to your face, finding his bearings before he leaned down and closed the distance, kissing you with infinite tenderness.

The moment his lips met yours, you responded, melting against him and kissing him back; so soft and warm it made his entire body ache. His heart was full to bursting as his thoughts tumbled like a landslide. Your lips were even softer than your cheeks, softer than mochi, warmer than sunlight. 

The kiss seemed to breathe life back into you, and almost at once there was a new passion and hunger which he had sometimes dreamed of experiencing. But never once did he actually believe he could share it with you. You stole his breath away.

When the kiss broke, you showered his face in smaller, more chaste, but no less lovely kisses. Gyomei felt himself smile as his hands trailed down your back.

"Tell me, cherished one," he said quietly, "just so I don't run away with myself. Is this simply to feel good and numb your pain, or is this truly how you feel?"

Thank the gods that the silence afterward was only momentary. His heart couldn't stand it.

"It's how I feel," you responded, caressing the sides of his face with both hands and giving him goosebumps. "Gyo… this is why I come to you after every mission to embrace you and hold your hands. This is why I make cat-shaped mochi for you. I thought you knew I love you."

His heart was about to burst from his chest and his smile could not be contained. "Ah… yes, now that I consider it, it seems obvious."

You laughed. "My sweet Gyo."

You kissed him again. Though it had only been moments since the last one, relief coursed through him as he drew from that sweet warmth and softness. 

"My most beloved, I am yours."

Your hands explored his shape, traversing the neckline of his shirt to the very top of his chest. While not vain, Gyomei was proud of his strength and the muscles he worked so hard to hone. Your quiet hum of approval sounded against his lips as your fingers touched his pectorals. It filled him with pride.

A breathless, tingling sensation coursed through his body as your touches grew bolder and your kisses increased in intensity. The sensation of your hands brushing his bare skin caused a sensation not unlike you were tugging a chord connected to his core.

"Am I moving too fast?" You asked, still resting your forehead against his as though it was as painful for you to be apart as it was for him. 

"Not at all. Continue, please." Heat pickled across his cheeks, far more intense than any sunbeam. 

"You're blushing," you whispered before taking his hand and leading it toward your face, brushing your cheeks with the back of his fingers. "I'm blushing too."

He smiled. "I feel it. You're so warm."

Your cheeks grew plump beneath his fingers as you smiled, and then your hand left his. He heard the soft rustle of fabric, the quickening of your breath, and then you took his hand and led it down to your bare chest.

"Oh…" he choked out.

Nothing in the world could compare to the smooth warmth of your body beneath his large, battle-hewn hands. You were silk to him, lotus petals, mochi, the gentle flow of a sun-warmed stream. His chest ached. Your beauty was overwhelming.

The way you bowed to his tender caresses pulled once more at that chord. When he brushed his thumb over the hardening bud of your nipple and elicited a soft sigh of pleasure from you, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Tingling excitement rolled through his lower belly as your hands went to the fastening of his trousers. Gods, he wanted this, he did… but as inexperienced as he was, there were certain facts he was very aware of. 

“We must be patient,” he said. “I need to ensure you are ready.”

“Believe me, Gyo, I’m ready.” You kissed him again with renewed passion, running your fingers through his hair and sending more little shocks of pleasure through him. 

Gyomei smiled as you pulled back from the kiss, placing his hands over yours to halt your progress. “You’re not ready enough.”

“What do… oh… OH.” You had no doubt noticed the bulge forming in his trousers. “I see. You’re–”

“Large.” He pulled in a breath. “I’m very large. And I don't want to hurt you." Slipping his hand over the curve of your waist, he pressed a kiss to the plush softness of your chest. "If you wish to continue then I ask that you permit me to prepare your body to…receive me."

"I want to continue." You kissed him again, your tongue entering his mouth and slowly teasing his; pulling a gravelly moan from his lips. When you withdrew, you stood and he heard the soft rustle of cloth once more as you removed the rest of your clothing. You took his hands and led them to your bare thighs. "Please touch me."

His pulse thundered as he skated his hands along the curves of your body, committing every soft hill and luxurious valley of your shape to memory. Every touch was an act of profound worship, and every sweet sound of pleasure which came from you was an answer to a prayer.

"Beloved, lie down for me," he said softly. "I want you to be comfortable."

You did as he asked, lying back on your futon.

Just knowing that you were before him, laid out and feeling as nervous and as excited as he was, made his heart flutter. He undressed fully before he let his hands stroke the lengths of your thighs, down to your center where the heat radiated from you in intoxicating waves.

"Please tell me if I'm doing well or not," he asked. His voice was quiet and shaking a little with trepidation. "I've never… well, I've received a little bit of instruction on how to do these things but never put them into practice. So please…"

"I will." You placed your hand on his and with gentle pressure, urged him to touch you. 

Your tender flesh was like nothing he had ever felt before. His breath caught in his throat as his fingers mapped out the shape. You were so warm and wet, and the scent of you was truly intoxicating. You made such lovely sounds of pleasure as he slid his fingers through your folds, coating them in your essence. He traced their shape upward, to where they converged over your delicate, swollen bud.

"There," you gasped as he circled his fingers around it. "That's…"

"Your clitoris," he said with a smile. "I know… I told you, I've had instruction."

At the time he had thought Uzui's lessons were wasted on him, but he had committed the information to memory nonetheless. Now, as your hips bucked and your thighs trembled from the gentlest touches, he had every intention of thanking Uzui from the bottom of his heart.

"Gyo-mei~" you gasped as he stroked your clit with his thumb and pushed a thick finger into you. Oh, gods, the heat, the silken flesh, the slick coating of your nectar, like sun-ripened fruit. He wanted so badly to sink into you and feel his body connected to yours. But he would be patient. He would ensure you were completely ready before he satiated his needs. 

A wave of heat washed over him as you bore down on his finger, eager and demanding even without words.

"Is it good?"

"So… good…"

"Do you want more, my beloved?"

"Yes…" your breaths came in short gasps. "More."

He pushed a second finger into you, pausing as you cried out, allowing your body to accommodate them. His fingers, like everything else about him, were large.

He waited until you began to thrust onto them again and took that as a sign that you were ready.

Gently, he began to move his fingers, pumping them into you slowly as his thumb continued to rub your clitoris. His heart quickened as he felt your inner muscles begin to contract and spasm. 

"Don't stop," you whispered, your voice breathless and urgent.

"I won't."

You came apart seconds later, gasping and shuddering as those muscles pulsed around his fingers. You squeezed them so beautifully, and imagining that sensation on his cock was enough to make him lightheaded.

But he still had work to do. "Can you take more?"

You placed your hand on his thigh. "Yes."

A blissful cry emerged from you as he added a third finger, gently stretching you. 

"Gods, Gyomei~"

"Breathe, beloved. Breathe and relax. I will stop if you wish me too."

"Never."

He chuckled before spreading his fingers slightly, opening you up and readying you. "If I could only express the true depth of my feelings for you." He bowed his head, kissing your stomach with slow, lingering kisses as he continued to pump his fingers into you. 

You were so receptive to his touches, moaning softly as you placed your hand on his wrist, as if to hold it down between your thighs. It was a reassuring gesture that he was pleasing you. That's all he truly desired.

He felt your muscles quiver again and you cried out his name. His cock stood firm, aching with need as your pussy squeezed around his fingers.

"I think you are ready." He spoke softly, kneeling back a little. "If you still–"

"I do. Gyomei… I absolutely do."

You got up and sat astride his thighs as he knelt on the bottom of the futon. This was good. It was exactly what he wanted. He needed you to be in control now, setting the depth and intensity. 

Your lips brushed against his as you cupped his face. The bare skin of your torso was so soft and delicate against his large frame. He wound his arms around you and met your kiss, slow and passionate and filled with love. 

Shifting in his lap, you positioned yourself so the head of his cock was pressed against your entrance. He felt a brief stab of worry that he hadn't prepared you well enough, that he had been too hasty and would hurt you, but a moment later you took him with nothing more than a breathy moan. 

"Gyomei… Gods you feel incredible."

Oh there was nothing that could describe that feeling of sinking into you. A needy groan escaped him as he pressed his head to your shoulder and breathed in the scent of you, trying to ground himself. He was lost in the sensation.

"I love you," you whispered, kissing his lips so gently it seemed you felt he was fragile and precious. 

"I love you too, my everything."

He had never felt so connected to anyone. Mind, body, soul, he was yours. He groaned in pleasure as you undulated your hips, taking him deeper inch by inch, stopping to give you both time to adjust and bask in the sensation.

"Does it hurt, my love?" he asked, unable to shake the tinge of concern from his mind or his voice. 

"No. No, we fit together perfectly." You kissed his neck, sending a frisson of pleasure traveling down his body where it pooled in the bottom of his belly. 

People often spoke of the beauty of stars; pinpricks of light shimmering among velvet darkness, and he felt he understood that with you. He felt them. Shimmering sparks which danced across skin, overwhelming him in the best possible way.

Pressure built at his core as you rode him, your hands resting on his shoulders, your soft body moving against his. You were taking him well, better than he had ever dared to hope you could.

The slow rhythm of your movements, the constant pleasure, the intimacy… It was too much. He grit his teeth and choked out a cry.

"Beloved… I'm…"

"Let it happen, Gyo. You've more than satisfied me. Let go…"

You kept on moving to that slow, loving rhythm, building the exquisite pressure which ran through his core, growing and growing until he was barely clinging to his senses.

His fingers gripped your hips with more strength than he ever meant to use with you, holding you to him as his pleasure reached an almost unbearable peak. 

"Ohh, beloved… perfect… so~ ohhh…so perfect." 

He filled you entirely, lowering his head to press his cheek to yours as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and clung to you. 

"I have you," you whispered as you held him, stroking his back as he trembled in your arms.

He knew he could be like this with you for as long as he needed to be. As wave after wave of pleasure rocked through his body, he sank down into your arms, pressing you back until you were lying on the futon and he reclined on his hip beside you, nestling his head against your chest.

Your heart thudded against his ear, beating to a rhythm you had set together. 

His lips curved as you stroked your fingers through his hair, kissing the top of his head and sighing in contentment.

And the world was forever beautiful. 

In that moment, and in every moment he shared with you, the stone hashira's heart was softer than mochi.

[starfinss]

ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ — ʀᴏʀᴏɴᴏᴀ ᴢᴏʀᴏ

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: One Piece

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Roronoa Zoro + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW 

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 7,375

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: He’d gotten jealous when some random idiot hit on you, and you realized you didn’t mind that jealousy. The frenzied make out session in that tiny closet was just the result of that realization.

You hadn’t spoken a word about the situation since that day. That was two weeks ago.

And then it happened again.

Storms were the worst.

You used to love them, before you became a pirate. You found contentment in listening to them; the musical sound of rain against the window, thunder growling overhead, lulling you to sleep. Peaceful. That’s what you thought of them. There was a certain kind of incomparable coziness that came with laying tucked into bed while a storm raged outside. You were inside, warm and dry, in your own little bubble of warmth.

But that was then, and this was now. 

You knew you were in trouble when the sky had been blood red that morning, indicating the coming storm. It was just like the old mariner’s rhyme said, though thanks to Nami, you now knew the science behind it. Something about how the red color came from high water content in the atmosphere. You couldn’t remember the exact words she’d said.

Science or no, storms spelled trouble for sailors of any kind, even the kind that engaged in certain illegal activities such as piracy. Life was easy when the water was calm and the weather cooperated. Storms were a complication, and this one was no exception.

The low visibility, torrential rain, and rough water forced the Merry to dock at a tiny island town you didn’t even catch the name of, with you and the other Straw Hats left to find a motel or some other form of lodgings, since the rocking of the ship was making it hard to even stand up straight, let alone fall asleep. 

And that led you to now. Drenched and miserable, and standing in the shabby lobby of the town’s motel. 

“A room for six, please.”

The clerk looked at your captain for a moment before speaking.

“For six, sir?”

Luffy whirled around, counting the group out on his fingers before facing the clerk again. 

“Yep,” he said, and even unable to see his face, you knew he was grinning. “Six. One bed should do.”

Nami looked at Luffy in askance, clearing her throat. 

“Sorry about him, he’s an idiot,” she said, “how about six individual rooms?”

“A waste of Berry,” Luffy countered, waving off the navigator, “just give us the biggest bed you have.”

Nami sighed, running her hand through her hair, which was plastered to her forehead with rainwater. Your own was no different.

“Luffy, there’s absolutely no way we can all fit in one bed,” Nami said, then turned to the clerk, “we’ll take six rooms, if you have them available.”

The clerk nodded, clearly pleased with Nami’s much more reasonable request, turning his back to the group to check a clipboard. 

“We have five available, miss,” he said, “four with singles, one with a double.”

A hush fell over the crew as you took in the information. You chewed your lip. This was fine. You could just share with Nami. You were both women, so it made sense that way. Plus, you knew she didn’t snore, so you’d get a comfortable night’s sleep. You were just about to say something about this when Luffy beat you to it. 

“Who wants to share with me?”

Nami didn’t even look at him. “Not happening.”

Luffy wilted. “Why not?”

“What do you mean ‘why not?’”

Luffy looked offended. “I’m great at sharing beds!”

You figured this was as good a time as any to bring your idea up. “Nami—”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Nami said, more to Luffy than you, “you guys figure it out. I need a shower.”

“Wait, Nami,” you tried again, but she was already turning away, disappearing down the hall after collecting a key from the clerk, leaving you dumbstruck. 

Usopp gave you a look of sympathy. You appreciated that, even if it didn’t fix anything.

“Let her go,” he said, “she’s the one who navigated us through the storm to this island. She deserves her own bed.”

He was right, but that didn’t remove you from the awkward spot you were in. Your wet clothing was starting to get cold, and you were beginning to shiver, so it was suddenly less important who you may end up sharing with. 

“I’m still okay with sharing,” Luffy said, oblivious to any awkwardness, “anyone?”

You chewed your lip. You didn’t want to share with Luffy, and no offense to Usopp, but you weren’t all that keen about sharing with him either. He was your friend and you cared for him, but being that close in proximity with him would just be awkward. Sanji was similar in that regard. 

And that left Zoro. 

Zoro was different. 

You weren’t entirely sure how to define your relationship with the swordsman. It didn’t start off as smooth sailing, for lack of better terms. From the moment you met, you were constantly bickering. He was just as hard headed as you were, resulting in anything from petty spats to full blown arguments. The unstoppable force meets the immovable object, though it was hard to tell just who was what in that regard. 

Then the ‘incident’ happened, and things got even more complicated.

You shook yourself from your thoughts. You were too tired to deal with stupid feelings and the way Zoro’s eyes were boring into the back of your head. He had to be thinking exactly the same thing as you, and the thought of that simultaneously pissed you off and made your stomach twist in confusing knots. 

“I’ll take one for the team,” you said, breaking yourself from your thoughts, “one of you shares with me. It’s up to you which one it is. I’m going to take a shower.”

Without another word, you grabbed the key to the room with the double from the clerk, stalking off down the hall.

You jammed the key into the keyhole, stepping inside the room after you reached the door. It was a small room, a little shabby, but clean enough. The bed was on the left wall, centered beneath a painting of either a whale or some kind of indistinct mythical creature, you were unable to tell. The wooden floor was covered with a well worn striped carpet. The far wall was mostly taken up by a lumpy-looking red sofa, as well as two windows, both rather small and covered by threadbare curtains the color of watered down mud. Everything in the room had a sort of well-used air to it. As you entered, you got rid of your boots, leaving them by the door to dry out. 

All you’d brought along was yourself and a small rucksack with a nightdress you’d grabbed from your things, as well as a fresh change of clothing for the morning. You were starting to smell like fish and brine, so you made your way to the incredibly cramped bathroom connected to the room, quickly peeling off your clothes. 

Your skin was cold as you turned on the water in the standing shower, and you shuddered as you stepped under it. Thank God for the hot water. You half-expected it to be cold, which wasn’t uncommon in backwater motels like this one.

There was a half-full bottle of shampoo, seemingly left over from the last guest, and you hesitated to use it, but you also didn’t want to go to bed smelling like the worst parts of the ocean, so you squeezed some into your palm, lathering it into your hair. 

You knew what you were doing. You knew exactly who would follow you into this room. You groaned inwardly, your forehead thudding against the tile wall of the shower. You blamed that stupid jammed door for all of this. You blamed the idiot at the bar who hit on you, and the alcohol, and everything that led up to you being trapped in a closet with Zoro while bounty hunters trashed the building looking for your crew. 

Because that stupid series of events were what made you realize you had feelings for Zoro. And now things were weird. 

Silence filled by bickering was left empty and awkward, and the way Zoro kept looking at you when he thought you couldn't see didn’t help at all. Neither did the way his hands would linger on your waist if he passed you, just a brush of his fingers, sending electric shocks up your spine. And neither did the way he’d rest a palm on your thigh when you sat beside him at the dinner table. Nami was the first to notice the shift, though it was Sanji who deduced that something had happened between the two of you when you were shut in that closet, not that you’d ever tell him what it was, despite all his prying.

And something had. 

You remembered the buzz of alcohol fading as you bickered aimlessly, pressed closer than comfortable as Zoro struggled with the door. You remembered the way you snapped, something about how confusing he was being, and then he was gathering you into his arms, crushing his lips against yours, and how he’d crowded you against the wall behind you soon after. You remembered how his hands felt, drifting down your body to grab at your hips, how his tongue tasted like the whiskey he’d been drinking before, and how just his touch alone made you feel like you were losing your mind.

He’d gotten jealous when some random idiot hit on you, and you realized you didn’t mind that jealousy. The frenzied make out session in that tiny closet was just the result of that realization.

You hadn’t spoken a word about the situation since that day. That was two weeks ago.

And then it happened again. 

That was one week ago. You’d been in the kitchen, fixing yourself a sandwich late at night when Zoro appeared with the same idea. It started with you trying to bring up the closet incident, and ended with you caged against the countertop by Zoro’s arms, his mouth hot against yours, your fingers in his hair. 

And that wasn’t spoken of, either. 

You wanted to talk to him about it. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. You’d tried to approach Zoro about it, only to either chicken out, or end up with even more questions. It was incredibly strange, not only because it was out of character for Zoro to beat around the bush, but also because he seemed just as awkward as you were about it all. 

Maybe this would force his hand, you supposed. Or maybe he’d ignore you, though that was unlikely for obvious reasons, and you’d end up spending the night in the same bed as Luffy or something.

Through the thrum of the running water, you heard the door to the main room open, then close again. You couldn’t hear anything else, however, and whoever had just entered didn’t bother to announce their presence, but you were already pretty sure you knew who it was. You took a breath before turning off the shower, wringing out your hair before stepping out.

You toweled yourself dry before finger combing your hair, making sure to get rid of any knots before putting on your underwear and pulling your nightgown on over your head. 

You opened the bathroom door, pausing briefly when you saw Zoro sitting on the bed, busy unlacing his boots. He turned to look at you when you entered, clearly intending to only spare a glance, but his gaze lingered, doing a full sweep of your body. You suddenly felt self-conscious, tugging the bottom of your nightgown down further.

You shook it off. This was fine. You had him alone now. He had no way of escaping the discussion that needed to happen. 

With a breath, you circled the bed, sitting down with your back to him.

“We need to talk,” you said, “no more avoiding it.”

Zoro said nothing. You heard a soft thud as he tossed his boots away, followed by the rustle of fabric. 

“Zoro,” you said, “I’m serious.”

“Can we do this another time?” He said, finally, and you sighed, annoyed.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t feel like it right now.”

You turned around to face him finally. He was standing now, and wearing less clothing than when he’d first entered the room. His shirt was gone, as was the haramaki he usually wore. The latter was laid out on the nightstand alongside his swords, the former clutched in one of his hands. You didn’t blame him for taking it off, it was surely soaked with rainwater, but him being shirtless really wasn’t helpful at the moment. Infuriatingly, you felt heat rising to your cheeks. 

“I don’t care,” you said, “you haven't ‘felt like it’ in two fucking weeks. We made out, Zoro. Twice. Plus… everything else. That happened. We can’t pretend it didn’t.”

“We did,” Zoro said, crossing to the bathroom. He left the door open as he wrung his shirt out into the sink, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

“There,” he said, “we talked about it. Are we done?”

You rose to your feet, arms crossed. “No. I need to know why. I need to know what that meant.”

Zoro turned to face you, leaning back against the sink basin. “What do you think it means?”

You tossed your hands up in frustration. “I don’t know. You kissed me. Both times.”

He shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant, his face as impassive as always, though something about him was unmistakably smug. “I did.”

Zoro folded the shirt over the edge of the sink, moving to lean in the doorway. You cleared your throat, taking a step forward as well.

“Is that a problem?” He continued, eyes lifting at the corners in taunting mirth, “it didn’t seem like it at the time.”

“If it’s this easy to acknowledge it, why didn’t you talk about it at all? You got jealous, Zoro.”

Another shrug. Then a scoff, a near laugh, as he pushed off the doorframe to cross over to you. 

“I did,” he said, “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Don’t tell me you’d rather have been in that closet with that stupid drunk rather than me. Or that you’d rather be with someone else in that kitchen. Or, y’know. Everything else.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Of course not. Why would you even think that?”

A flash of mischief appeared in his dark eyes. “So you liked kissing me?”

You avoided his gaze, displeased with the way he’d taken control of the situation. “That isn’t the point. The point is—”

But you didn’t get to finish. Because before you could even finish being annoyed with him, Zoro was grabbing you by the shoulders, pressing his mouth to yours. It was a chaste, quick kiss, but it still left you speechless and reeling.

“And what about that one?”

You blinked, your thoughts a jumble of nonsense.  “Still not the point,” you managed, “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you, Zoro, this isn’t—”

Another kiss, deeper this time. You gasped in surprise, fighting back the urge to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Stupid, infuriating man, doing stupid, confusing things to you. You pressed your hand against his chest, pushing him gently, just to get a word in before he pulled you back in.

“Zoro,” you said, “what do you want?”

“You,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Fuck it. Fuck this, fuck him. This stupid moss-headed moron was messing with you, he had to be, and you could tell from the way he was smiling at you, crooked and devious, like the cat that got the cream. He liked seeing your confusion and uncertainty. He’d just been waiting for this, for you to snap. You stared at him furiously and wild-eyed before it was your turn to pull him in, your mouth colliding with his. 

Zoro’s hands rose to cup your cheeks, then shifted down to land on your waist, and you were moving, back colliding with the wall beside the bed. He tasted like whiskey again, which was puzzling since he hadn’t had any to drink that you knew of, though, knowing him, he probably had a flask stowed somewhere. 

It was almost a relief to kiss him, like a salve being applied to a burn, and you had to stop yourself from crying out as his hands drifted down to your hips, squeezing, his knee pressing at the close of your thighs. Zoro had been like a cat before, playing with his prey. Now he was going in for the kill. 

But two could play at that game. 

You slid your hands down from where they’d been folded behind his neck, flattening against his strong chest. Your fingers trailed down the defined muscle, pressing into the dips and curves of his abdominals, finally catching on the waistband of his trousers. Your thumb dipped into the ridge of muscle at his waist, nail scraping gently against the warm skin, and you felt him shudder, breath catching. 

His hand caught your wrist, with no particular strength, but enough to warn you of what you were getting yourself into. You responded by taking his lower lip between your teeth, tugging gently before linking your mouths together again. You knew what your were doing, and you knew what would happen if you riled him up more.

That did it. Zoro sighed against your mouth, a slow release of breath that seemed to display his rapidly fraying restraint, especially as you twisted your wrist free of his grip, fingers trailing up his sides, making him shiver. His grip on your hips tightened, the fabric of your nightgown bunching between his fingers, causing the garment to ride up, but you hardly cared, not when his knee was slotting itself between your thighs, pressing flush against your clothed cunt. 

The slow, easy grind made you gasp into Zoro’s mouth, hips twitching, but he was holding you down, firm against the wall, still an utterly infuriating tease, even now. You retaliated by palming him through his trousers, slow and deliberate, and he broke the kiss to look at you, breath heavy, gaze heated.

“You sure you wanna do that?” He warned, “you’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like getting burned,” you shot back, defiant.

Amusement danced in his dark eyes, his lip catching between his teeth as he fought a smile, and it was then that you noticed his face was flecked with countless freckles, a constellation across his cheeks. Absently, you wanted to kiss each and every one of them.

But the thought was ejected from your mind as he was kissing you again, tongue pressing into your mouth, and your fingers found his hair as he pulled your leg up to rest against his hip. Then his hand was between your thighs, broad palm against your clothed center, fingers pressing against the rapidly dampening fabric, dragging so slowly that it made you crazy, but his opposite hand was still holding you in place, unwavering, even as you squirmed in his hold.

Zoro’s fingers slid to your clit, pressing through the fabric of your panties, making you gasp into his mouth, the sound devolving into a low moan as he pressed again, rubbing in slow, lazy circles. He kissed you deeper, slower still, making you arch into him as his hand tightened its grip on your hip, pushing the fabric of your nightgown up higher, then sliding beneath to touch your bare skin. 

Fuck, the feel of his palm, rough and worn and calloused, against your flesh, it felt like perfection, and your body twisted as his fingers pressed against the bend of your waist, his touch like a simmering heat. 

“Touch me,” you blurted, muffled by his mouth, and he pulled back to look at you, amused.

“Aren’t I already doing that, doll?”

Your defiance was draining away more and more as the seconds ticked by, especially at the sound of his voice. It was a low, rough sound, husky and heated, and it made suffocating arousal shoot down your spine. It was almost embarrassing just how quickly he’d gotten you like this, only with his hands and stupid, smart mouth. 

“You know what I mean, jerk,” you shot back, but he simply chuckled, fingers sliding away from your clit to press at your entrance, pushing the fabric of your panties against your heated skin. 

You squirmed, but he held you still, his grip like iron on your body. You felt his breath against your skin, making you shudder, one hand gripping at his wrist, the one between your legs. His mouth brushed against the curve of your shoulder, dragging up the column of your throat, teeth grazing the spot just beneath your jaw, and you almost felt lightheaded. 

His fingers pressed against your panties again, aided well by the wetness that was soaking through the fabric, causing your body to jolt in his hold, back arching against the wall when his index finger circled your clit again. 

“Zoro,” you gasped, fighting for control, “please.”

“Please?” He rumbled, “‘please’ what?”

Your head fell back against the wall, eyes squeezing closed as he pressed down against your clit. Fuck, how were you already so wet? His mouth skated down your throat to your collarbone, teeth grazing your skin before you felt his tongue dart out, dipping lower, towards the top of your already low-cut nightgown.

“Just take them off,” you blurted, head swimming, “do it properly.”

Instead of doing what you said, he simply pushed the fabric aside, but before you could counter, his fingers were dragging along your cunt, teasing, and you let out a low whine. His mouth attached itself to your throat, teeth sinking into the tender flesh and making you cry out. His tongue smoothed over the spot he’d bitten before repeating the action. 

Slowly, his fingers sank inside of you, and your hands were grasping at his hair, making him groan against your skin, a sound that only riled you up further. He moved away from your throat to rest his forehead against yours, and when your eyes fluttered closed, he crooked his fingers inside of you, forcing a cry from your throat.

“Eyes on me,” he whispered, “don’t look away.”

A flush of arousal flooded your system at the request, and you realized how much of a struggle fulfilling it was as he began to move. His fingers were able to reach much deeper than your own were, not to mention that they were thicker. The slow, almost tortuous pace he’d adopted made the friction of his rough palm against your clit even sweeter. 

Gasping, breathless, your hands curled around his forearms as you clambered for any kind of purchase, anything to keep you anchored. Your eyes were still locked with his, leaving you unable to hide the flush on your cheeks, the desperation in your gaze. 

His eyes were growing wild. Famished and dark as midnight, his gaze slid down your body to what he was doing between your legs, and you watched in rapture as his lips parted, drawing a shuddering, stricken breath at the sight. You squeezed his arm, forcing him to look up at you.

“Don’t break your own rule,” you said, voice heated, and amusement flashed on his face.

“Minx,” he countered, palm grinding against your clit, and you let out a startled moan.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he rasped, “that’s what I wanna hear.”

You groaned, both in pleasure and in frustration. “Then go faster.”

He chuckled, full lips pulling into a roguish half smile. 

“Oh no,” he said, fingers curling inside of you, making your back arch, “I intend on taking my time with you. You have no idea what you do to me, do you? What you make me feel? I wanna savor this.”

His thumb moved to your clit, rubbing in slow circles, and you bit your lip to muffle your gasp of pleasure. This was embarrassing. You were so defiant before, but some pretty words and his stupid, pretty hands were enough to make all of that crumble.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t bite back. 

One of your hands slid down his chest again, fumbling with his belt before tugging it off. He was already hard, something evident through the fabric of his slacks, and when you pressed your palm against him, you got the pleasure of hearing him gasp.

You tugged at his button for a moment before it came unsnapped, then pulled down his zipper before reaching down past the fabric, palming him through his underwear. He shuddered under your touch, a muscle in his jaw tensing as you explored, breath coming out in a sharp burst when your thumb ran over his clothed tip. His eyes briefly flicked away from yours as you focused on that spot, rubbing in circles, making him grunt, and when you pressed down, ever so gently, he groaned.

“You’re making it hard to focus,” he said, and the way he was looking at you was almost predatory.

You looked at him through your lashes, causing his breath to hitch. “Good.”

Finally, you pushed his underwear down, tugging him free and catching him in your hand.

Fuck.

He was thick. Your fingers only barely met as you wrapped your hand around him, and his length was worth mentioning as well. Six and a half inches, you’d guess, maybe even seven. It was oddly pretty, too, with a pink flush. He was a good deal bigger than anything you’d been expecting, not that you thought about Zoro’s dick with any kind of frequency. 

You took him into your hand, rubbing at his leaking tip, smearing precum with your thumb, an action that made him groan. You stroked him slowly, just as slow as he was touching you, and you watched as he fought to keep his eyes on you, lashes fluttering. His jaw clenched, hips shifting towards your hand as you thumbed his tip, sliding your fingers down to rub the underside of him. 

Zoro’s breath left him in a burst, hips twitching forward, the hand on your waist tightening its grip to nearly bruising. His fingers curled inside of you, making your back arch, free hand flying to grab at the back of his head, tangling into his hair. Your eyes were still locked, and you wanted to kiss him so badly, but you wouldn’t be the one to break, not when he was still going so slowly it was driving you crazy.

So you sped up. You knew you’d catch hell for this, but you decided that whether or not you’d be able to walk tomorrow was a problem for then, when your thoughts weren’t blurry with arousal. 

You touched him in quick, even strokes, squeezing at the tip each time, and you got to listen to him growl, his hand slipping from your waist to press against the wall beside your head, fingers fanning out. You could tell from the quickness of his breaths that he was trying to keep control, and then he was speeding up, making you falter.

The curl of his long fingers as he pumped them in and out of you, creating a sound that should’ve embarrassed you, but really only aroused you more. Your brows pitched up, pressing together, because fuck, it almost burned after how slow he’d been going before, making you squirm, and his hand was grabbing at your wrist, pinning the hand that had been touching him to the wall. 

“Eyes on me, darling,” he hissed, voice heated, “you wanted faster? I’ll give you faster.”

You couldn’t help but moan as he pushed his fingers deeper, hitting all the right spots, mouth just grazing yours as you squirmed against the wall, bucking your hips against his hand. He was playing you like a damn instrument, thumb firm against your clit, and he rewarded you with deep thrusts of his fingers every time you cried out. You could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching, and your fingers knotted in Zoro’s hair, eyes half lidded, pleading. He groaned, low and rough, just at the sight of your stricken expression.

His hand left your wrist to run up your body, stopping on your clothed chest, and he pushed the fabric down below your breasts, causing the straps to slip down your shoulders. His palm pressed against a breast, and your breath shuddered. Your hips jumped when he gently squeezed, rubbing a thumb over one of your nipples. He caught the nipple between his fingers, pulling, rolling it between them, and the sensation shot straight down between your legs. 

You were close. It was almost maddening, how good it all felt, and you could hardly focus on anything but Zoro’s hand between your legs, and how you were grinding down into his touch, chasing your high. He let you do as you pleased, gaze downright famished as he watched your face twist in ecstasy. You let out a loud, desperate whine, a near sob as he pushed his fingers deeper, thumb on your clit, driving you into that desperate build that comes just before you tip over the edge.

“Zoro,” you managed, voice strained, “Zoro, please.”

He said nothing, only replying with a growl as he crushed his lips against yours, frenzied and hungry, and your nails dug into his scalp as he brought you to your end, sending you toppling over that edge and into oblivion. 

You saw spots as you came, and he broke the kiss to watch your face, gaze dark as your head knocked back against the wall, hips bucking wildly against his hand, because it was all you could do not to scream, one of your hands slamming over your mouth, teeth sinking into your palm. You were squeezing around his fingers, spasms wracking your body, his name on your tongue like a broken prayer. Zoro pulled your hand away from your mouth, diving in to kiss you, deep and passionate, his tongue tangling with yours, and you moaned into his mouth as he worked you through your climax and into the realm of overstimulation. 

You were halfway towards a second orgasm when he finally pulled away, and you slumped against the wall, boneless, breath uneven and heavy. Zoro’s mouth pressed against the side of your throat, trailing up to your ear.

“Think you can handle more?”

You smiled, still breathless, looking at him through your lashes. “Let me catch my breath.”

“Tired already?” He taunted.

You responded by pushing off the wall to drop your nightgown off your body, followed by your panties. Zoro’s eyes raked down your figure, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and then he was pulling you to him, mouth hot against yours. You could feel his bare cock pressed against your stomach, and his hands slid down your hips to your thighs, boosting you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

His mouth trailed down your throat, sucking hard enough to surely leave marks, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. You pressed your hips forward, grinding against him, and he moaned into your skin, his grip on your body growing tighter. He was growing impatient, you could tell. But so were you.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he husked, and you whined, pressing your hips against him once again.

“Then do it,” you said.

That was all it took. You were suddenly moving, tossed onto the bed, and you watched as Zoro slid his trousers down his legs before he was taking his place above you. His mouth was hot against you, and you wrapped your legs around his hips, growing more impatient by the second, something that didn’t go unnoticed.

“So needy,” he chuckled, lips brushing against your jaw, and you arched your back, shifting your body against him, making him hiss between his teeth.

“So cocky for someone who was telling me how bad he wanted to fuck me,” you countered, “are you all talk, then, demon?”

His eyes flashed, thrilled and amused, and you knew you were in for it, but not one part of you cared. In fact, you welcomed it. Obviously just as impatient as you were, he was prying your thighs farther apart, his body slotting between them.

You felt his tip at your entrance, pressing forward, and you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch as he pushed inside, and fuck, even just that was a stretch. Your head fell back, breath uneven. You felt Zoro’s mouth against your neck, and he was pushing forwards just a bit more, making you whine.

“Fuck,” you gasped, “fuck, you’re too big.”

“Relax,” he urged, voice rough, “it’s too fuckin’ tight, you gotta relax.”

You took a breath through your nose, fingers knotting into the duvet beneath your body. You took another breath as he sunk deeper, the stretch bordering on painful, but you could take it, even if it felt new and strange. 

Zoro’s face was flushed pleasantly pink, a sight that would be endearing in any other context, and you watched his teeth grit as he pushed forward again.

“You can take it,” he whispered, encouraging, “shit, relax, relax.”

You lifted your hips, allowing him to take hold of them, using them as leverage to push the rest of the way in, finally bottoming out.

“Fuck,” Zoro gasped, voice breathless and stricken, “fuck, that’s it, I knew you could take it— shit—”

His sentence was cut off by a loud groan, and you yanked him down into a kiss, appreciating how still he was being, despite his rapidly unraveling restraint, but you could hardly wait, even as your body protested at the unfamiliar feeling of being stuffed so full. You shifted your hips forward, your breath leaving your lungs in a sudden burst, and you heard Zoro groan in response.

“Move,” you gasped, “please.”

He gave a shallow little thrust, then another one, slightly deeper, and you felt his hands grip your waist as he pulled his hips back, only to thrust forward, filling you once more. 

You gave a choked, helpless moan as he thrust again, and fuck, you didn’t think you’d ever felt so full in your life. The stretch was rapidly making your thoughts turn to nonsense, head emptied out, and not one part of you cared at all.

Zoro adopted a pace that had you rocking back against the bed, head falling into the pillows, and he was dipping his head down to meet your mouth in a heavy kiss. His hands found your legs, pushing them up to wind around his waist, shifting his hips back to an angle that made your head spin. 

“Right there,” you slurred, “Zoro, Zoro, right there— so good.”

He gave a low, indulgent groan, his hands smoothing over your body, grabbing at your waist, tugging you flush against him before he was thrusting again, stuffing you full, forcing a sudden moan to fall from your lips. 

The room was filled with the sounds of skin on skin, mixed with your breathy, bitten-off moans and his soft grunts, and fuck, you didn’t know it would feel this good. It definitely wouldn’t be the last time this happened, not when it was more than evident that what you felt for Zoro was far from one-sided, and certainly not when it made you feel like this. 

Your nails dug into Zoro’s back as he fucked into you, and he gave a stronger thrust, breath shuddering. You watched a muscle in his jaw tense, twitching, eyes squeezing shut as you tightened around him. His head dipped to connect his mouth with the curve of your shoulder, dragging down to your chest, and his lips pressed against your nipple. His tongue passed over the sensitive flesh, making you arch into him, squirming, and his grip grew tighter.

“You don’t know how much I thought about this,” he breathed, hips rocking forward, “how many times I imagined fucking you in that closet. You’re so fucking gorgeous, with that smart-ass mouth. And you love this, don’t you? You’ve wanted this, too.”

You let out a shrill wine as he ground his hips against you, the base of his cock rubbing against your clit. Your hips lifted to meet his thrusts, making him groan, and he was holding you down, one hand on your lower stomach as he shifted back onto his knees, tugging your thighs around his hips. 

“I wanted this,” you slurred, back arching as he ground his hips against yours just right, “thought about it, too.”

Zoro’s hands tightened on your thighs, and you sobbed in bliss as he ground himself against you, the friction combined with the way he made sure to hit your clit with the base of his cock with every roll of his hips making it hard to even see straight. 

You tossed your head back, whimpering, and you weren’t going to last, not when he was doing everything he could to make you writhe. Each thrust left your head empty, breath heavy and rough.

“Harder,” you gasped, “c’mon, Zoro, give it to me.”

You felt his hands find the backs of your knees, lifting them to your sides to use as leverage as he pushed deeper with a heavy groan. His mouth met your throat, and then he was biting down, but the pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming pleasure, the two mixing into an intoxicating feeling. Deep, hard thrusts sent you into incoherency, and when one of his hands left your leg to press a thumb to your clit, you let out a whine of his name.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Zoro groaned, “you’re gettin’ close, yeah?”

You could do no more than nod as he took your body with abandon, your climax so close it was driving you insane. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers in his hair, and he groaned in your ear as you bucked up against him. You were totally drunk on pleasure, overwhelmed. He was the center of your world at that moment as he thrust deep into you, the rough pad of his thumb working you into madness.

You bit down on Zoro’s shoulder, sobbing in bliss as your orgasm hit you, washing over you like a tidal wave. His name was the only word on your tongue as he worked you through it, repeating it like unholy scripture until you could do no more than whimper in ecstasy, nails digging into his back. 

“Fuck— fuck!” You heard him cry, hips stuttering, “one more, do that again, I need to feel that again.”

And he was hiking one of your legs over his shoulder as his pace turned borderline punishing, leaving you helpless, unable to do anything other than lay there and take it, but you hardly had the wherewithal to even protest, not as he worked your over-sensitive body to its very limits. 

His nails dug into your thigh, a growl tearing from his throat as his thrusts grew erratic. Your head was empty, completely fucked out, thoughts filled only with jumbled thoughts of the man above you as he fucked you, deep and hard. You felt tears beading at your lash line as Zoro worked you towards yet another climax, and you yanked him down into a sloppy kiss in crazed desperation for as much contact as possible.

“Gonna cum,” you choked, “Zoro, fuck—”

“Do it,” he snarled, “fuck, do it, cum on my cock— yeah!”

You felt yourself gush on his dick, muffling your scream in the crook of his neck, vision spotty, and you knew you’d get addicted to this, addicted to him, but you knew neither of you cared at all about that fact, not when he was chanting your name, chasing his release as you squeezed around him in a vice grip. His pace was relentless, entirely indulgent, and you could feel him twitching inside of you.

“Wanna fill you,” he gasped, desperate, completely undone, “let me, will you let me?”

Unable to form words, you only nodded, yanking him down into another kiss as he thrust all the way in, stuffing you completely full, moaning into your mouth as he pulsed inside of you, his hands bruising in their grip on your body. Heat bloomed inside of you, making you whimper against his mouth, and you slowly rocked your hips to help him through the euphoria of it all, something that made blunt nails dig into your flesh.

Together, you lay panting, breathless and undone, tangled together. Zoro broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathing erratically, and it was a few tense moments before he was slowly pulling out, rolling off of you to lay beside you.

“That can’t be a one time thing,” you said, after you found your voice, and Zoro huffed what may have been a laugh.

“Fuck no.”

A few beats of silence passed before the bed creaked, and another few passed before you felt a towel between your thighs, wiping you clean. Then, the blankets were being pulled back, and you were being tucked under them. Zoro climbed in shortly after, tugging you to lay against his body.

Silence passed some more, and you almost thought Zoro had fallen asleep before he spoke.

“You make me feel things I’m not used to,” he said.

You stole closer, curling into him, resting your head on his chest.

“How long have I done that?”

He pressed his nose into your hair. “Since I met you.”

You snorted. “Bullshit. You didn’t like me when we met.”

“I did,” he said, “I’m being serious. You’re gorgeous and strong, and you know it. You don’t back down. You made me feel things I’ve never felt before for anyone. I didn’t know how to handle that, so I acted like an idiot.”

You smirked. “Hell of a time to tell me that, after you fucked my brains out. You had a crush, so you acted like a little kid on the playground, is that it?”

A snort. “Yeah, pretty much. Never said I was proud of it.”

You laughed, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours.

“I feel the same,” you said, “when you kissed me in that closet, I realized it. You could’ve just asked me to get a drink, though.”

Zoro smiled. “Sure, I could’ve. But this was way more fun.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Teasing me relentlessly?”

“Yep. Do you have a problem with that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, several. But I’ll pay you back for that in due time.”

“Give it your best shot. I look forward to it.”

Idle chatter continued for a little while before you began to doze off. You felt Zoro tug you closer as you fell asleep, and for once since you started sailing with the Straw Hats, you were actually thankful for storms.

And, as you felt Zoro’s lips press against the crown of your head, you were excited for the future.

“You had fun last night.”

You turned to look at Nami from your spot at the front railings of the Merry, eyes slowly growing wide.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” she said, “play that game. But maybe try a little harder to cover up the hickies next time you and Zoro… spend the night together.”

Shit.

“Nami, I’m sorry,” you relented, “it sort of just happened.”

She snickered. “Usopp told me he basically forbade anyone from taking the room with you after you left the lobby.”

You put your face in your hands, thoroughly embarrassed. “Usopp knows?”

“He isn’t stupid, anyone could’ve figured out what might happen. The hickies are just confirmation.”

“Confirmation for what?”

You bristled at the sound of Zoro’s voice, stiffening when he crossed the deck to reach you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

“You know what I’m talking about,” Nami said, and Zoro smirked, smugness radiating off of him in waves.

“Do I?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why else would she be walking funny?”

Zoro shrugged, nonchalant, still smug as ever. “I guess we’ll never know.”

And as he tugged you closer, nose pressing into your hair as Nami turned to walk away, you couldn't help but smile.

[sixpennydame]

Make. Believe. ❖ Act 1

Actor!Levi x Fem!Reader

It’s your first sex scene as a leading actress, and it’s with none other than Levi Ackerman. But you both can stay professional….right?

Warnings / Content: NSFW, Minors do not interact, oral sex (fem receiving), vaginal sex

A/N: I've been working on this one shot since April and it's finally here! There will be a Part 2, written from Levi's pov, available now!

Act 2 | Act 3

“Oi, you ok? Ready to do this?”

Levi stands naked before you. It’s nothing new - you’ve seen his nude body several times already while shooting this film. But today is the day that you shoot the main sex scene with him - the first you’ve ever done as a professional actress.

And despite all the preparations you’ve done, you’re nervous as hell about it.

You take a deep breath. “Yeah…I’m ready.”

The Camera Assistant raises the slate, “Scene 24, Take 1…” *Clap*

“Action!”

When your agent told you about the role you knew you were perfect for it. An ingénue role: innocent, pure, but headstrong, and when you finished the audition, you knew you’d gotten it. 

The movie is set in the 1920’s and tells the story about a woman who had been married off to an older, powerful man who owns a large estate. She has an affair with the quiet, mysterious groundskeeper. It’s all about class, duty, and desire.

You knew the role would require several sex scenes, and quite risqué ones at that. But that didn’t bother you. You’d been nude on stage while in acting school and you took your craft seriously.

What made you nervous was that you would be doing the sex scenes with Levi Ackerman. 

You’d had a crush on him since your teenage years, when you saw him in the Attack on Titan series. You, and every other girl that saw him in that show. Ten years later, he was still one of the most sought-after actors in film and television. He excelled in dramatic roles and was a skilled physical actor, even doing most of his own stunts. In interviews, he was always cool and quiet, letting the other actors take the spotlight. He also kept his private life particularly private, and this gave him an air of mystery.

 You weren’t sure what to expect when you met him for the first time with the rest of the cast at the first script table reading.

“Mr. Ackerman, I’ll be playing the part of Anna. It’s an absolute honor to be working with you.”

His grey eyes give you a once over, then he shakes your hand. “Please, call me Levi. I hear this is your first leading role.”

Just shaking his hand, you’re already blushing. How will you react when you actually have to touch him romantically?

You shake those thoughts out of your mind right now. “Y-yes, it is. I’d appreciate any advice you can give me.”

“This director is pretty strict about sticking to the script. I’ve worked with him before. But with love scenes, he’s going to give us a lot of freedom to kind of just do what we want.”

Oh god. He’s already bringing up the sex scenes. And he calls them love scenes. You feel your face getting even hotter. 

He notices. “I’m guessing you’ve never done a love scene before.”

“I uh..” you were going to try to think of something witty to say, but it feels difficult to talk suddenly, “I haven’t, actually.”

He smiles. “It’s normal to feel nervous. The most important thing is for you to trust me, and for us to respect each other.”

The room is filling with more cast and crew as the table reading is about to start. Levi gestures for the both of you to have a seat. “Why don’t we start by getting to know each other after the table reading? When we’re not shooting we can get together and help each other with lines and maybe eat together during breaks. That way, I won’t feel like such a stranger.”

“That would be so nice. Yes, let’s do that,” you reply, feeling better and more comfortable with him already. He just seems so…normal. Not at all the broody, rude character he’s made out to be in the tabloids.

After that, you spent most of your free time with Levi. You’d hang out with each other in your trailers, working on memorizing lines or just talking. The director insisted on shooting most of the movie on location and not in a studio, so you were all left to basically live in a small town in the countryside. Levi would invite you out with other cast and crew friends. He was friendly - much friendlier than you’d imagined him to be - but you noticed that the larger the crowd got, the quieter he became. You much more enjoyed the time when it was just the two of you.

Leading up to your sex scenes, you and Levi were required to meet with an intimacy coach. She was pleased to hear that you and Levi were already getting to know each other, since trust is key. The three of you talked over the scene and the movements required. 

“There will be moments where you two will have to be naked with each other, but when you two actually recreate sexual activity, you can use intimacy barriers and skin colored thongs and underwear,” the coach suggests. “Levi, I know you’ve done sex scenes totally nude in the past.”

That’s right..the independent film he was in a few years ago. There was a lot of controversy about the very explicit sex scene in that movie. So they were completely nude during that scene? Why do you feel jealous?

“Whatever Reader is comfortable with. I’ll follow her lead,” he says, matter-of-factly. 

The coach looks at you. “And you’re comfortable being nude with Levi?”

You’re trying so hard not to blush and look professional, as if this conversation isn’t giving you butterflies in your stomach. You feel Levi’s grey eyes on you. “Yes, it’s not a problem.”

Later that afternoon, your words were put to the test. You were to shoot a scene where your character catches Levi washing outside his cottage. It’s a short scene but you’re nervous. When you arrive on set, Levi is already in a robe waiting. 

The scene is set, and Levi takes off his robe. His body is even better in real life. He’s toned, and he has a perfect six pack with a deep v shape on either side. A black trail of hair leads down to his..

No, you shouldn’t look, it’s unprofessional. But you want to so badly.

“Reader, go to your mark,” the Director’s Assistant says.

“Y-yes, of course.” You take your place by the wall that surrounds his character’s cottage. When the director yells action you walk along the wall until you get to the entrance, but before you enter his garden, you see him washing at a basin near the home. You’re supposed to look for just a moment, then turn back against the wall and blush at seeing him. 

But when you peek around the corner, you can’t help but let your eyes linger for just longer than you’re supposed to. He’s washing himself, the water flowing over his beautifully toned body. His hair is wet and he pushes it back.

“Cut!” the director commands. “Reader, you were staring too long. Remember, she’s shocked at what she sees and quickly turns away, but she’s also titillated.”

You blush and look over to Levi, who you hope is far enough away that he can’t hear what the director is saying. “Got it. Sorry about that.” You take your mark and do it again.

The next day, you had to shoot some other scenes and didn’t see Levi all day. Although the day’s shoot went without a hitch, you couldn’t help but think about that perfect body of his and how you would soon be touching and kissing it. 

You arrived at your trailer earlier than usual the next day. There were a few cast and crew members ambling about, but it was otherwise quiet. You knock on the door of Levi’s trailer.

“Come in,” he answers. When you enter, Levi is casually sitting, drinking his tea and reading through today’s scenes. “I thought we could discuss how we wanted to block today’s physical scenes. It’s no nudity, but since it’s their first time,I think there are some particular movements they want us to include.” 

It’s strange, talking to Levi about, “me grabbing your breast,” or, “when I enter you for the first time,” as if these are the most normal conversations to have in the world. But even hearing him say these words in his deadpan way of speaking is making the blood rush to your cheeks. After a lengthy discussion, you scribble some notes in your script for later, then make your way to your trailer to get into costume.

The scene is set in a hunting cabin far from the main estate. As your character has just left a dinner party, you’re wearing a beautiful wine colored gown that everyone remarks on. Everyone except Levi. He sits in his chair and seems to be in some kind of ultra-focused state. You’d never noticed before, but maybe that’s how he gets into character.

Or maybe he’s nervous too.

Your heart is pounding when the director says action. “Please don’t go,” you say, as you grab Levi’s arm. 

You’d blocked out the scene with Levi this morning, but you suddenly have an urge to deviate slightly from the plan, not because you want to, but because you now feel like that’s what your character would do at this moment. 

You hold his hand and begin to kiss his palm and wrist, then you place it on your cheek. It’s so innocent, but full of yearning.  Levi’s body goes tense, but then he unexpectedly moves his thumb to your lips and you open your mouth. You begin to suck on his thumb, then his pointer finger, looking at him seductively when he finally pulls it out. He lets out a sigh and then he’s kissing you passionately; you pull down his suspenders while he lifts up the gossamer layers of your dress. Your mouths crash together as he undoes his pants. He tastes like spearmint, and you wonder if he did that on purpose. He moves away from the kiss and pulls off your underwear, and then he’s on top of you and between your legs. 

Although his bare ass is showing, the camera angle doesn’t necessitate him completely against your crotch. But he pushes slowly as if he is entering you for the first time and after a few thrusts, he starts getting faster. 

Your character is going through a lot of emotions at this point: desire, guilt, pleasure. You look away and your cheeks begin to flush as Levi continues to move, a certain kind of desperation in every thrust. You both begin to breathe heavily, your hands in his hair and his head in the crook of your neck. One final thrust, and there’s only silence, until..

“Cut!” the director cries out. “Good work, you two. Now, let’s do that again, with some closeup shots.

“You okay?” Levi asks as he gets off of you and grabs a rag to wipe off his sweat. 

You straighten your dress and a makeup assistant comes over to touch-up your makeup. “Yeah..I’m fine.”

“They way you approached me, with the kisses on the palm and taking my fingers - that was a nice change.” He looks at you as he returns to his mark. “You have good instincts.”

“Thanks.” You laugh to yourself, because the compliment makes you blush more than when he was rutting against you.

The cinematographer changes cameras and gets closer. “Alright, let’s do that again..”

——

The next day, you meet with the intimacy coordinator to choreograph the next sex scene scheduled for the end of the week. In the midst of taking notes and discussing with Levi the motivations for each movement, you become quiet, your thoughts drifting elsewhere. Because for the last few days, you’ve had trouble differentiating your feelings for Levi and your character’s feelings for his character. The line seems to be blurring between them, and that concerns you. 

In between scenes, you truly enjoy spending time with Levi. He’s smart and funny. He nerds out about tea and kung fu movies, and you’ve spent many an evening just listening to him go into more detail about the two than you ever thought possible. He gives you ideas when you struggle with character notes, and even helps you to memorize lines. At night, in the privacy of your hotel room, you’ve fantasized about what it might feel like to be desired by him, to hear him say your name as he touches your body.

Then you hear your name being called by the coordinator and you snap out of it. “Is that ok with you? Being completely nude for the scene?” she asks.

“No..no..I’d like for both of us to be covered,” you answer. It’s better this way, you think to yourself. It keeps it professional.

Levi shrugs. “Fine by me.”

You both walk back to the hotel at the end of the day, but Levi stops you before you enter the building.

“Hey, you ok today? You seem distracted.”

“I’m fine. I guess I’m just nervous about tomorrow.” 

“I get it. But we’ve put a lot of work into this. And I’d like to think we trust each other at this point.” He puts his hand on your shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

Just like that, you feel more at ease. He just has such a way with you. “You’re right, we’ve done well so far. And I do trust you, Levi.”

——

When you arrive at your trailer the next morning, there’s a to-go cup on your table. 

To calm your body and mind. —Levi

Your makeup artist smiles as you read the note. “Levi just brought that by. You sure have a great leading man.”

You smile. “Yeah, I sure do.”

The scene takes place in the forest in the afternoon. Your character has snuck away from her home to meet him, far away from spying eyes. The Director has decided to film the scene in sections instead of one long scene, at least for now. 

The marker board is clicked and you and Levi walk hand-in-hand among the trees. He pulls you into a small clearing, then grabs the back of your neck as he starts kissing you fully. You pull away and look him in the eyes.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Your character is a lady of high society; it’s scandalous for someone of her stature to say such a thing, but here she is, with this man that is ‘below’ her, and she wants nothing else than for him to ravage her.

You can totally relate to your character, in that regard.

He moves closer to you and begins to fondle your breasts, then he grabs the front of your white cotton blouse and tears it off of you, revealing your bare chest. 

He lays his chore jacket on the ground. “Undo my trousers,” he commands, and you do so. You then lie down on the jacket beneath you while he pulls down his trousers and takes off his henley shirt. When he takes off his trousers, you look away.

“No - don’t look away. Look at me,” he says with authority. He crouches over you and easily pulls off your skirt. 

“Cut! Let’s get them ready for closeup shots.” The Director and his team set up for the next shots as you and Levi sit awkwardly on the ground. You can’t move too much because you don't want to spoil the continuity of the scene, so you freeze as your hair and makeup team tousle your hair and touch up your makeup.

Both of you have your groins covered but other than that, you are completely naked, except you’re still wearing your stockings and boots. The Director tells Levi to get on top of you and he does so.

“Ready to do this?” He whispers.

“Yes, I’m ready,” you answer.

“Scene 24, Take 1..”

*Clap*

Levi is immediately kissing your lips, then moving down to your neck and collarbone. He looks back up at you and begins to thrust, each one hard and deliberate. You begin to move your hips to meet his thrusts and he breathes heavily into the skin of your neck. Even without actually having sex, the friction enough is turning you on; that, and Levi’s kisses on your body.

Then you feel it. A hardening bulge rubbing up against your clit. You look into his eyes and see a brief flash of recognition, but neither of you break character. 

He pulls you up and your legs are wrapped around him. He continues to thrust into you but it’s slower now, your bodies working together as you grind. His hard cock is rubbing your clit just right, and you feel like you could come from just this feeling alone. You’ve forgotten about the hoards of people watching both of you right now and you’re completely in the moment, letting him pull you even closer to him. 

“Levi..” you whisper in his ear. It slips from your mouth before you know it; there aren’t any lines scripted for this scene, and you’re hoping it wasn’t loud enough for the boom mic to pick up. It earns a look from Levi and then he smirks - you’re not sure if that was in character either. 

Your hands grasp at his hair and he starts slowing down. You look up at the sky thinking about the pleasure you - and your character - just felt. Then your lips graze against each other as your breathing becomes more calm.

“And cut! Great work you two I loved how that flowed. Let’s take a 15 minute break. I’ll look through the footage and decide if we need to re-shoot anything.”

Just like that, the moment is gone. The Director and others begin to move equipment and Levi’s assistant brings him a robe. He has it on and around him before you can barely get off of him.

“Good work,” he says curtly as he walks off. Your assistant takes a little longer to get to you, so you’re sitting there, naked, trying to figure out just exactly what happened between the two of you.

Levi keeps his distance during the break and as he listens to the director’s notes. You have to re-shoot a few closeup shots, and although the energy is still there, something is different. You can feel it. 

——

Levi doesn’t come out with you and the crew for dinner that night, and he doesn’t reply to your text messages. You’re worried - did you do something to offend him? Was it because you moaned his name during the scene?

That has to be it. It probably made him feel awkward. Maybe he thinks you’re unprofessional. It makes your palms cold and clammy just thinking about disappointing him, you can’t bear it.

But you can’t deny that he was turned on during the scene. You felt him against you. You couldn’t have imagined that.

You walk back to your hotel room lethargically. You think about texting him again, this time apologizing for your behavior, but before you can, there’s a knock on your door.

“Levi?”

“Hey.” He shifts one leg to the other, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Can we talk?”

“Of course,” you open the door wider for him to enter, “come in.”

He enters, his body language clearly restless and troubled. “What’s up?” you question.

“About today’s shoot….I’ve been doing this a long time, and I’m always professional. I respect you as an actress.”  

He paces the room and has a difficult time looking at you. You assume he’s going to reprimand you for your behavior today, so you prepare yourself. “I know you do, Levi. And I respect you.”

He finally stops in front of you. “But me getting turned on today…I don’t want you to think less of me. It’s just that you’re-“ he runs his hand through his dark hair. 

Butterflies begin to form in your stomach. You’ve never seen Levi this flummoxed before. He takes a deep breath and it seems to give him focus as he moves closer to you. 

“You’ve done something to me. When I had you in my arms today, I couldn’t help myself. Then when you said my name like that…”

He looks into your eyes. “I’ve kissed you countless times during this filming. But right now, I want to kiss you as myself.”

Your heart does backflips and your throat is suddenly dry. “So kiss me,” you invite, moving even closer to him.

It takes him a moment, almost as if he is checking if it’s truly ok. Then with a deep breath, he grabs the back of your neck and crashes his lips into yours. Even though you’ve kissed him many times, this time it’s different. There’s an electricity to it, an honesty, as if he’s laying bare his entire self to you. 

His hand moves from your hip bone to under your shirt, his soft touch sending shivers down your spine. It doesn’t take long for his other hand to make it under your shirt as well, and soon he’s pulling it over your head and off of you. 

You also start letting your hands roam, first down his back and then under his t-shirt. You grab the hem and pull it off of him, but before you can do more he’s working on unclasping your bra. 

“I want you so badly.” His voice is low and raspy as he lays you on the bed.

You’ve started peeling off your leggings but he takes them and pulls them off roughly, desperately. “There are condoms in the drawer of the bedside table.” He gives you a look. “You know..just in case.” He smiles, then reaches over to the drawer. As he does so, you pull off your underwear and start touching yourself. You rub your clit in circles, watching him as he stands over you.

There’s a giant bulge in his grey sweatpants and you can see the lust in his eyes. “God, you’re beautiful.” He throws the condom packet down and dives in between your legs, kissing the inside of your thighs.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to have you like this? To take this beautiful pussy as mine?” He starts licking at your folds and you swear you’ve entered heaven. He starts flicking his tongue over your clit, alternating between fast and slow. Your back arches and your hands reach down to grip his hair. 

“Yes, yes, right there….fuck…” You can’t believe this is happening. Levi is here, he wants you, and he’s eating your pussy in a way that no man ever has.

Just when you feel you could climax, he stops. He reaches down next to the bed and picks up the condom package, sticking it in his mouth as he takes off his sweatpants and underwear. 

You’d seen him naked on set, but his cock had been flaccid at the time; now that he’s hard, it’s even more impressive. As he puts on the condom, you lick your lips, preparing yourself to truly - finally - have him inside you.

He can see the desire in your eyes. “Look at you - so eager for my cock are you?”

“Yes, Levi, I want it so badly. I’ve always wanted you.” You open your legs a little wider, inviting him to go between them. 

He moves in and looks down on you as he touches his cock. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. I don’t know how I’ve kept myself in check for this long.” 

You smile. “So you’ve been thinking about me?”

“Of course I have. How could I not?” He positions himself above you and rubs his cock on your entrance, covering it with your juices. “When I’m not on set with you, you’re all I think about.”

Before this night, Levi had always had a quiet, awkward confidence to him, as if there were a multitude of thoughts happening just below the surface; but now, he was assertive and cocky, telling you his thoughts and desires without any restraint. You loved seeing this new side of him.

He enters you slowly and you both take a deep breath, then he begins to move faster as he sees a smile form across your face.

“You feel so good…fuck…” 

Your words encourage him to pick up the pace, the sounds of his hips slamming into you reverberate throughout the room. “Shit, you’re so wet, I can’t get enough of you.” He moves down to kiss you passionately, then he starts to kiss and suck on your neck.

“Be careful..I have to shoot a scene tomorrow,” you warn, halfheartedly.

“Makeup can cover it up,” he growls in your ear and then continues.

He feels so good, you can’t resist anything this man does to you, so you give into him completely as his cock rams into you and his mouth claims you.

The evening is a flurry of moans and grunts, him having his way with you on the bed, against the wall, in the shower - it was as if you were both discovering pleasure for the first time. Real pleasure - not performative. 

As the sun begins to rise, you both lay exhausted and satisfied in the bed, the sheets in a tangled mess around you.

“This won’t change how we work together, will it?” you ask with a worried look on your face.

“Why would it? If anything, it’ll make our chemistry on screen more believable.” He kisses the top of your head. “And this will make the preparation for the other sex scenes much more interesting,” he says with a boyish grin. 

You can’t argue with that. “I suppose life sometimes does imitate art.” 

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@thevelria @lunaeheroine18 @meltingforthatackerman @adanfore @blondebebop @levisfavoriteacup @dont-f-with-moogles @itty-bitty-baby-face @ricecrispiebirb @whorenamedbee @rec-a-fic @leviismybby @littlerequiem @satorizz @lost-in-the-daylight @nube55 @kingkonoha @mrsackxrman @youre-ackermine @luvjiro @wanderlustqueen-writes @mrsackermannx (happy late birthday present, bby, this one-shot is for you <;3)

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

levi when you finally let him nut after edging him the whole night

[levilxvr]

thinking about levi waking up with terrible morning wood🤗

its 6am and his eyes open. You’re lying silently beside him, still deep in slumber. He turns over to cuddle you but stops when he feels a tight sensation in his pants. fuck, it’s this stupid thing again. Levi always gets confused about morning wood. Like why does it exist? Why is it there when he’s not even horny? and why the hell won’t it go away on its own?

He tries to dismiss it and wraps his arms around your waist. But as he starts thinking about how cute you look in one of his shirts, snuggled up against him like that, it becomes harder for him to ignore the raging boner straining against the seams of the fabric. Eventually his pants are off and his tip is pressed up against your clothed pussy, grinding against you with only your panties separating your skin.

on mornings like this you get a pleasant surprise when you finally wake up: levi, desperate and needy, breathing your name as he grips your hips tighter and asks to let him fuck you. Of course you say yes and then it turns into a heated morning session, giving you really nice start to your day

[kariighost]

Nsfw 18+ mdni ♡

Can’t stop thinking about riding Levi so good that he literally cannot form any thoughts. He can’t even talk dirty or tell you how good it feels, he can only stare up at you while your bouncing on top of him, your head thrown back showing him your neck that’s all marked up from him, your tits so perfectly bouncing with your rhythm and he’s just stuck staring at you with his mouth open in awe.

To him, you’re an angel that he cannot believe is fucking him the way you are right now. It’s so rare for him to not be in control, he isn’t used to this. But fuck he loves it.

“You like this captain?” You say looking down at him, panting slightly from the pace you’ve kept up. He can’t seem to answer, his brain just isn’t computing

“Answer me, Captain” you say harshly, gripping his jaw in your hand. He lets out a harsh groan. His fingers dig so hard into your hips it hurts, but in the best way. He was so close. He’s never had someone treat him like this before. He was always in control, he was always dominate.

“I’m….. ah… I’m … fffffffuck” he moans out pathetically. You smile down at him sweetly while bouncing even faster, still keeping an iron grip on his jaw. “That’s it captain… fill me up. I want your cum so bad, I need it”

That did it.

His grip on your hips tighten even more and he tenses up, mouth open and whimpering loudly as he spills into you. The sight is so damn hot you can’t help but come right along with him, your tightening walls making his brain short circuit even more. He pulls you down to lay completely on top of him and kisses you hard.

If you ever manage to get on top of him again like this, just know it will not last long.